Prowl and Jazz challenges
by taralynden
Summary: A set of unrelated stories focused around Prowl & Jazz. Ratings vary.
1. Aotearoa Christmas

Title: Aotearoa Christmas

Rating: K

Challenge: Summertime Christmas, incorporating kangaroo, cactus and hot springs.

Summary: Christmas can be a stressful time, particularly when something ruins your plans, but that doesn't mean you can't still enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers

* * *

"This," Jazz declared disgustedly as he entered the aircraft hangar, "is ridiculous."

Prowl glanced across at him, then decided he would comment and turned back to humans he had been speaking to.

"Are there no other options?"

"I'm sorry, but it's Christmas." the official in charge shrugged. "All the airports are chocka and there just aren't that many cargo flights today except the ones that got booked ages ago."

~Chocka?~ Prowl checked with Jazz, unable to find that particular word in his internal dictionary.

~Who cares? I want _outta here_.~ Jazz sent back, scowling. ~There's a party goin' on that I've been plannin' for the last three months an' I wanna be there!~

"Could you let us know if there are any changes?" Prowl asked.

"Yeah, sure, but I doubt there'll be anything. Unless you want to go by ship?"

"Thank you, no. I believe we will wait for our allies to retrieve us."

~So what now?~

Prowl looked around the busy hangar.

~I believe we are in the way. Perhaps we could go for a drive while we wait. We will draw less crowds that way. I don't believe any of us have travelled here before, and the locals are clearly curious.~

~Leaving the airport will mean further to travel if somethin' _does_ come up.~ Jazz pointed out belligerently.

~I fear that's highly unlikely. And Skyfire can collect us from wherever we are.~

~By which time we will've missed everything.~

Verbal persuasion clearly was not working, so Prowl simply transformed into his alt mode.

~Are you coming?~

* * *

~You're being immature.~ Prowl commented as they idled amongst the heavy traffic waiting for the lights to change to green. ~Since we are currently stuck here, it makes sense to make the best of it.~

~Meanwhile Sunny an' Sides are celebrating. I bet they're behind all this.~

~Skyfire's inability to retrieve us immediately has more to do with the timing of his regular maintenance than their meddling - something that Ratchet schedules a long while in advance.~ Prowl pointed out the obvious. ~In any case, I doubt they're enjoying your absence: with both of us gone and Optimus in Washington until tomorrow, the party has probably been cancelled entirely.~

Jazz considered that, pulling alongside Prowl as the traffic moved and they headed along a wide causeway of three lanes in each direction.

~Red'd have a riot on his hands if he did.~

~I imagine he believes doing so will avert one.~ Prowl responded, then read off a sign that they were passing. ~'Haere mai'. Odd. Are you sure the language spoken here is English? Perhaps we need a local refresh of the vocabulary?~

~It just isn't right.~ Jazz ignored the question. ~How can it be Christmas in summer? The carols don't make any sense, here.~

~I can't say they ever made much sense to me to begin with.~ Prowl mused. ~In any case, you know as well as any of us how planetary environmental conditions alter dependent on hemisphere and position in the elliptical orbit.~

~What I'm sayin' is that they should celebrate it in the winter time, not the summer.~

~I thought it was based around a particular date, rather than weather condition?~

Jazz huffed. Normally he enjoyed the banter, turning Prowl's logical responses on their head with correspondingly illogical arguments, but right now all he wanted was to be back at the _Ark_.

~Who's crazy idea was it to have Omega Supreme drop us off here in the middle of nowhere without sticking around, anyway?~

~Mine, actually. As you would know, if you had attended the briefing as you were supposed to. The reports are inconclusive but I felt there was value in checking that there was no actual Decepticon activity here...~

Jazz stopped listening. He knew why they were here. What he couldn't understand was why it had to be _now_. Would it have been such a problem to leave it for just a few more days? True, he should have been at the briefing and then he might have been able to delay the plans, but it had been called at short notice and he had had other things to do. Important things. Just not things he was in a position to divulge, right now.

~...always said you wanted to see a kangaroo, so this may be a perfect opportunity.~

Hi s attention snapped back in time to hear a completely incongruent statement. What was he talking about now?

~Prowl, kangaroos live in Australia, not New Zealand.~

~This tourist site has pictures of some on a nearby island called 'Kawau'.~

Jazz looked at the internet link Prowl sent across to him.

~Those are wallabies, not kangaroos. They're smaller. Anyway, we're heading away from that: we'd need to go north and we're headed south.~

~So what wildlife is there to see here?~

~No idea. Look it up, why doncha? And while you're at it, find us a charter flight outta here!~

* * *

The drive thus far had not been unpleasant. Once they got out of the city the traffic flowed well and the scenery was peaceful. Jazz, though, remained in a thoroughly miserable mood.

~We have a choice coming up. We can either take the scenic route through Waitomo and then back via Mystery Creek where I believe...~

~Are there any airfields out that way?~ Jazz interrupted him.

~That's the only thing you're thinking of, isn't it?~

~Prowler, I wanna go home. That's all. It's been crazy busy lately, an' I'm tired, an' I don't wanna do anythin' 'cept get back to the _Ark_ an' have a good long soak an' maybe a nap, then spend some time wit' friends.~

They drove in silence for awhile, then Jazz moved up into a passing lane to drive alongside him.

~You think I'm bein' unreasonable.~

~I think you're being honest.~ Prowl allowed. ~More honest than you would be around the others.~

Jazz snorted, then revved his engine and quickly moved ahead as the short passing lane came to an end. A large white sign declared that the Desert Road was open.

~Desert?~ Jazz commented as it flashed past. ~Can't see cactus growin' well here. Not dry enough.~

~I understood 'desert' indicated sand, not necessarily cacti.~ Prowl considered, then saw the sign he had been watching for.

If this last idea did not relieve Jazz's mood, he would have to take action.

~Turn left up at the next intersection.~

~And miss out on the desert? What a shame.~

~Jazz, we live in a desert: I doubt this one is very much different.~

* * *

Prowl was losing patience with him, Jazz suspected. Understandable, really, but this was all so frustrating and around his partner he did not have to keep up the happy facade that the others all expected from him.

He had been planning today's events for a long time - both the group activities, and his own more private ones. Right now he and Prowl should have been cuddling on their berth enjoying the oilcake and goodies he had managed to procure. But he had taken the oilcake out of its protective wrapping just before Prowl called him, and those things very quickly went stale and destabilised. The fact was, it was probably just a messy puddle now. So much for his plans.

"Here we are." Prowl spoke up, stopping finally and transforming.

Jazz followed and stared.

"A sulphur pool?"

"A geothermic one. It's close to the pick up point, and I for one would like to get the dust off my chassis."

"Pick up point?"

Primus, he was starting to sound like had a glitch, but he was more than a little startled. He had not seen anything like this on Earth in the time they had been here.

"Yes." Prowl agreed shortly, stepping into the yellowed water and steam and wading through it. "Skyfire is now available and is on his way. I have sent him our coordinates."

"You've stayed in contact with the _Ark_ all this time?"

"There was no way to get you back more quickly."

"Oh. Well... thanks."

"You're welcome." Prowl responded distantly, his back still to Jazz.

Relaxing a little now that everything was organised, even if it was all too late, Jazz realised abruptly that he had been more than a little unreasonable. Prowl had been trying particularly hard today to placate him, and he had rebuffed every attempt. Slipping into the water himself, making sure to close all his vents so he did not suck in too much of the sulphur gas, he moved to hug Prowl from behind, settling his chin on Prowl's shoulder.

"Thanks." he repeated more firmly.

Prowl nodded, stilling and raising one wet hand to pat his cheek.

"You're welcome."

* * *

"So are you going to tell me why you're upset?" Prowl asked, interrupting the peace as they sat on a natural ledge by one side of the pool. "You've been out of sorts ever since we got here."

"I had somethin' special planned." Jazz admitted. "But your gift's back at the _Ark_, an' by the time we get back it'll be spoiled an' the holiday'll be over an' you'll have t'start up on all your diplomatic stuff again. I hardly see you anymore."

"It's only for a few years." Prowl pointed out, moving one hand to swirl the water idly. "A tenth of a vorn, at most, and likely only half that."

"I know. It shouldn't matter. But time's so different here. The humans make the most of every little bit of it, an' it makes me think about how much we're wastin'."

"You consider this a waste?"

Jazz smiled, leaning back against the rocky side.

"Well, not _this_, precisely. _This_, I could do with a whole lot more of."

They sat in silence for a while, soaking in the thermal currents and enjoying the simple pleasure of each other's company. Then Prowl sighed.

"I have a confession to make."

"Hmm?"

"I organised this."

Jazz looked down at him.

"Yeah, I know. The mission."

But Prowl was shaking his head.

"There never was any Decepticon activity out here."

Jazz stood up in shock to stare down at his partner, scattering droplets of sulphurous water everywhere.

"What!"

"I thought you'd appreciate being around a different culture during these festivities. Different traditions, language, music. I thought it would be a nice thing to do together. I'm sorry."

Jazz gaped at him.

"You... did?"

"But it's alright." Prowl continued quietly. "Skyfire will be here shortly to collect us, and we'll be back by midday on Christmas Day - in plenty of time for the festivities there."

"Wait - _today_ was Christmas Day." Jazz frowned.

"We're on the other side of the dateline. Back at the _Ark_ it's still Christmas Eve, approaching midnight. We'll be back in time for your party."

"But that's not what you planned?"

Prowl shook his head.

"Never mind that. We'll get back and spend the time there. That will work just as well."

"You did all this so we could be alone." Jazz said slowly.

"You said it yourself: we have so little time to ourselves right now. But there's no reason why we can't spend time together around the others, too. You're more naturally social than me, I should have included that in my planning."

Jazz sank back down, regarding Prowl thoughtfully.

"So this place..." he considered. "No-one's gonna disturb us out here? This is where you were heading?"

"We will be undisturbed here." Prowl agreed. "The gases are too concentrated to be safe for humans - there is only a track there because their scientists come here occasionally to test the toxicity levels."

"Huh." Jazz interrupted him, gliding closer. "Fancy that."

Prowl frowned at him.

"Is something wrong?"

"Nope. But I'm startin' to wonder."

"Wonder what?"

Jazz grinned, sliding his arms around Prowl's sides.

"What people here do to celebrate New Years. I think maybe I'll stick around to find out."

* * *

~Blaster calling Skyfire, you hearing me, sky buddy?~

~Yes. Does Prowl want another ETA? I'm making good time - I should be there in less than half a groon.~

~Actually, Jazz called through. Says something's come up and they're gonna need to stay for a few more days after all.~

~But Prowl was adamant that I must make best speed so that Jazz does not miss the party. He's been checking in regularly.~

~I guess something changed.~

~Do you think they need backup?~ Skyfire worried. ~Are they in trouble?~

Blaster chuckled, glancing once again at the suggestive text of the message Jazz had sent to him.

~Nah, I wouldn't say that. If you ask me, I think they've got it all under control.~

* * *

The end.


	2. Perspective

Title: Perspective

Rating: T

Challenge: 13 prompts (Halloween)

Summary: Seen one way, a series of unconnected events in the daily lives of the Ark's crew; seen another, the brewing of a storm that was always going to come.

Warning: have tissues on hand, this one does a bit of a twist at the end.

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, or Barbie, and the inspiration for the costume came from the "Interlude" sequence by **ante_luce**, though she does it much better ;) Sorcelling, however, is purely my own invention.

* * *

**Darkness**

"All the perfumes in Arabia cannot sweeten this little hand."

The words hung in the air along with one raised hand, almost invisible black against the dimness of the room, then Prowl covered it with his own white one and squeezed it comfortingly. Now was not a time for words.

The crew of the Ark saw Jazz as ever cheerful, always bright and energetic and ready for the next challenge, always ready for fun. They never saw the darkness in his moods, he never let them.

Even his staff, who should have known better, who had seen him grim and efficient and deadly in his role as Meister seemed prone to forget, and Jazz worked hard to ensure it stayed that way.

Sometimes, though, the depression overcame him; sometimes the darkness won through.

Jazz sobbed, curling forward as Prowl embraced him from behind. Jazz never liked to be looked at when he was like this; was too overwhelmed by the guilt of his past deeds to bear scrutiny. But it was also bad for him to be alone, to suffer uncomforted.

Prowl never asked why, never pressed for detail. It would pass. In awhile, the tension would ease from Jazz's frame and he would sigh and apologise or express quiet gratitude. Then he would bury it all deep again. Hidden until the next time it became to hard to bear.

For now, though, he battled the darkness, and the best Prowl could do was be there with him until he was again ready to face the light.

* * *

**Black cat**

"Have you heard that saying 'black cat crossed your path is bad luck?" Bluestreak asked as they patrolled the city streets. "Why black? Why not white or multicoloured? And why is it bad luck just because a cat was walking perpendicular to your path? What if you walk alongside one? Or if it's on a path and you're not? Or..."

Jazz let him ramble. A talkative Bluestreak was a happy Bluestreak, and recently many of the others had been less tolerant. Or perhaps Bluestreak himself had simply been going through a bad patch. In any case, that was why he had asked Prowl to pair them up on patrol together for awhile, to give Bluestreak a chance to normalise again.

"...any particular breed of cat? Does that matter? Does it have to be domesticated, or do wild cats count too?"

It was a drab day, not particularly warm nor cold, low cloud cover that threatened no rain but simply dimmed the light. Traffic in the city was steady and so far there had been no delays.

"...what if you jump over it? Or turn your back? Is there a distance limit? What if one crosses your intended route so far ahead that you don't even see it, does that still count?"

They turned off the main street towards the desert; time to head home. The traffic signals ahead were red and they stopped. Waiting, Jazz idly watched a shadow move in a nearby alley.

The shadow had tracked them ever since they entered the city, but had stayed carefully out of direct line of sight. A moment passed, and then it withdrew, apparently deciding to end the game for now.

"Hey Jazz, the light's green." Bluestreak prompted him. "What're you waiting for?"

"I'm just watchin' a black cat that decided not to cross my path." Jazz murmured. "Guess it's my lucky day."

* * *

**Ghost** (or, "_Crossing the streams is baaaad_")

Prowl read slowly through Red Alert's very long and painfully detailed report. It was true that he appreciated detail, but a single event that had lasted less than an hour should not generate a report that required the memory capacity of three separate file pads. Nonetheless, that was what he had so he made certain to read every line of it.

He worked his way through the eyewitness accounts, paying particular attention to those written by Gears, Trailbreaker and Beachcomber who were less prone to hysteria than some others. Wheeljack's account he only briefly perused - the engineer was still muddled after the incident.

He analysed the vitriolic medical review, annoyed at the number of casualties this had caused: it seemed he would have to rework the duty roster for a fifth time this week.

The supply report listed a variety of missing components, but also named some he was not so certain of. What, for example, was 'marshmallow'?

Finally, he re-read the confession of the guilty mech sitting in front of him before raising his head.

"So." he summed up. "After viewing this film you felt it necessary to encourage Wheeljack to attempt to recreate the equipment and led half the crew on a chase around the mountain to use it, resulting in twelve casualties, the destruction of two of our energon reservoirs, damage to several of our auto defences as well as several of the Ark's facilities and a large hole in the recreation room wall."

"It seemed like a reasonable action at the time." the mech explained sheepishly. "If these lifeforms truly exist and are benevolent then we need to make contact with them, and if they are malevolent it made sense to be prepared."

"There is no empirical evidence for this." Prowl pointed out.

The other mech opened his mouth as though ready to argue, then gave in.

"You aren't going to send me to the brig for this, are you?"

"Hardly." Prowl sighed. "If for no other reason than it was destroyed during the twins' testing of the equipment. No, you can work this off by helping Hoist and Grapple repair the damage."

The mech rose and turned away, but Prowl had one more comment.

"Oh, and Prime? Please do try to remember that not everything you see on television is real."

* * *

**Pumpkins**

The door closed behind Carly and Jazz looked down at the smaller human left behind, Carly's seven-year-old niece Jessica. Carly had asked if he could watch over her for just a little while so she could round up Spike and Sparkplug and Chip who were scattered around the Ark. He had been happy to oblige - it was a break from his reports, and it was always fun to get to know another human.

"Jazz?" she asked in a sing-song voice.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask a question?"

"Sure."

There was a pause, then she scooted a little closer.

"Um, Jazz?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you live in a pumpkin?"

He frowned.

"What?"

"All the walls are pumpkin coloured. Did you paint it with pumpkin paint?"

"Uh..."

"Ew, that'd make it so smelly! I had some pumpkin seeds. They were like this."

She made a shape with her fingers that really did not help him, but she carried on before he could comment.

"And we planted them. But they didn't grow much. But my friend Casey? She had some too? And they grew so so so so big and they were everywhere and they even went up the fence and up into Mr Johnson's chimney and he got so mad and her dad had to cut it all down. She didn't get any pumpkins, though."

"Oh."

"But Jazz, why do you live in a pumpkin?"

"It's not a pumpkin, it's a spaceship."

She stared at him for a moment.

"Have you seen Cinderella? It's my favouritest movie ever. She's like a princess and she's got sparkly shoes and a silver dress and a silver, um, hair thing, and she dances."

"Well..."

"I've got a Barbie Cinderella but her head came off."

Jazz hesitated, completely losing track of what this was all about and feeling helpless to direct the conversation. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if this was how Prowl felt when he was dealing with the twins and their pranks.

"That's... sad." he ventured.

"It's okay," she reassured him brightly. "I put it back on. Zara has the whole set with the Ken Prince and the coach and stuff and it lights up and everything. She's in my class but she's horrible. She wears big red glasses like this."

Her hands went to her face, basically obscuring her features, then seemed to wait for a prompt.

"Well I guess..." he began.

"Um, Jazz?" she interrupted, hands falling to her lap again.

"Yeah?"

"So... Why do you live in a pumpkin?"

~Prowler?~ he called desperately.

~I'm busy. Is this important?~

~I think I'm having my first ever CPU crash. Help!~

* * *

**Costumes**

"Please, Prowl?" Sideswipe begged.

Prowl ignored him, keeping his focus on Perceptor.

"Has that signal fault been resolved?"

"Yes, two hours ago. What's interesting is that it was solar radiation causing the disturbance."

"It'll be fun!" Sideswipe pointed out.

"I understood the atmosphere on this planet deflected most solar radiation."

"It does, but this was a particularly strong wave. Cosmos is collecting some data for us - if we can predict when the next such wave will hit, we can collect a large amount of energon in a short amount of time."

"It won't make a mess, and it'll help keep everyone here. You said you wanted everyone here."

"Is there any likelihood the Decepticons could do the same?"

"It's not likely. Their collection technology is antiquated - mostly relying on ionic cubes generated and filled with raw product and then converted."

"Prime's already said yes!"

"Yes to what?" Perceptor frowned.

"You don't want to know." Prowl assured him, then turned to Sideswipe. "Prime approved of the concept of a gathering. The resources you are requesting were not discussed and must be ordered through Red Alert and approved by me. So far you are not convincing me."

"But it's great public relations. The humans'll love it. Carly and Spike've already said how much they want to share more of their culture with us, and we've already promised we won't play any pranks that day. Please?"

He knew he was going to regret this, and yet Sideswipe had some good arguments. The Decepticons had been quiet for awhile, and everyone needed some kind of diversion. Besides, he had already decided that they were not going to repeat the debacle of the previous year: this year, on that date, all of the Autobots were staying confined to the Ark.

"No pranks between now and then, or the deal is off." he warned.

Sideswipe winced but nodded.

"Okay."

"Very well. You may organise this... 'dress up' party."

Sideswipe cheered and ran off, dragging Perceptor with him and babbling about a website where costumes could be ordered.

Already dreading the results, he returned to his office and began writing the confirmation for Red Alert, who would certainly protest. When someone entered a moment later he expected it to be the irate security director, but instead it was Jazz carrying a wad of fabric.

"So I hear you gave in. Knew you would."

"Word spreads fast, it seems. What do you have there?"

Jazz smirked, shaking the fabric out to reveal a black item with white frills.

"Gotcha the perfect costume, babe. You're gonna look fantastic in this."

* * *

**Crescent Moon**

"Two words. First word, two syllables."

"Throw? Throwing something?"

"Eyebrows? Angry? Ooh, I know, Ratchet!"

"Hey!"

"Not Ratchet?"

"Wrench?"

"That's only one syllable, idiot."

"Well what's a syllable anyway?"

"Weren't you listening when they explained?"

"Will you two shut up, we're running out of time."

"Spanner?"

Jazz settled back on the couch, handing Prowl a cube of energon.

~What're we playing now?~

~It's called 'charades'. It involves one person acting out a phrase which their team has to guess before the time limit expires. Spike is doing the acting for this team and Carly for that one. So far Carly's team is losing but if Spike's team don't get this one the scores will be even.~

"Welder?"

"It's a tool right? It is a tool? Um..."

"Round... arc welder?"

"That's three syllables!"

"Shut up!"

Jazz leaned back on the couch, draping his legs casually over the side and just incidentally leaning up against Prowl. The humans still did not know about their relationship, but he liked to be able to get away with this kind of thing occasionally.

~So what are the clues so far?~

~It's a two word phrase, something in the natural world not manufactured. The first word has two syllables and is the name of a tool.~

~What's a syllable?~

Prowl shrugged faintly, then sipped at his energon.

"Okay, second word. Quick - we're almost out of time."

"Round? Again?"

"Sky?"

"Round sky... sun?

"Planet?"

"Moon? Hey, moon? Yeah. Okay, something moon. Quick, Spike, what's the first word?"

~They're really getting into it.~

~It does seem to be an effective and harmless diversion, yes.~

~Wanna go do something naughty while all the bad bots're being good?~

He felt Prowl twitch at that suggestion, then the tactician spoke up.

"Time's up."

"So what was it?" Trailbreaker asked.

"Crescent moon." Spike sighed. "You know, like when there's only a little bit left."

"Okay, our turn again." Carly grinned. "And this one's a place. Here we go."

Happy enough to stay comfortably seated against his lover, surrounded by the relaxed crew, he was a little startled when Prowl abruptly stood up as the next round began.

"I believe I'll go and check what kind of moon we have tonight." he announced to a couple of mechs nearby who glanced in his direction, then strode off.

A little put out, Jazz was resettling himself on the couch when Prowl sent him one more message.

~Care to join me?~

He grinned and knocked back the last of his cube.

~Be right there, Prowler.~

* * *

**Orange**

"Why do humans have to make everything so complicated?" Red Alert grumbled.

Prowl shook his head, watching the most recent human visitors head off down the long quiet road back to the highway.

The first visitor to arrive that morning had said he was from 'orange' and was here to see Optimus Prime. After some discussion - and interrogation from Red Alert - it turned out that the telecommunications company he worked for was called 'Orange' and that he was trying to sell them some equipment.

The second visitor had also said he was from 'orange' but knew nothing about telecommunications. Instead it transpired that he was the governor of an area in California known as 'Orange County', and was hoping to get some of the Autobots to come on a tour.

By the time the third visitor from 'orange' arrived, even Red Alert had stopped panicking about it, and had listened calmly to his explanations about coming from a music recording studio and wanting to get Blaster to act as 'dj' (whatever that was) for some upcoming party.

Over the next three hours they had representatives from Orange Design offering them a website; Combustible Orange, offering a "guest spot" in their comic strip; Orange Research, who wanted to manufacture some of the components they would need to expand Metroplex; and Orange Parachute who explained that they could provide ISO 27001 compliance certification for if any authorities looked into the construction of their city.

As they watched, another vehicle approached and parked, and two humans got out.

"Let me guess." Red Alert said disgustedly. "You're from orange?"

The man and woman glanced at each other, then the woman shrugged.

"Close. We're from Yellow, as in the Yellow pages?"

* * *

**Trick**

"Prowl. Thank Primus - I was unsure that you would be able to locate me."

Prowl gave him a considering look.

"Your message was somewhat obscure. I assume there is some reason why you are here?"

He twitched and felt his antennae clink together.

"I..." he began, then paused and peered past Prowl. "Who else is here?"

"A few others. From your message I was not sure if you would need medical assistance. Do you?"

He grimaced.

"What I need most of all is to get free of this rock slide and to rest for awhile."

"Prowl, do you need a hand? Oh hey you found him. Hey, everyone, through here!"

Typical Bumblebee.

"Please, I would much rather avoid a fuss."

"Hey, no problem." Bumblebee smiled at him. "We'll have you out of there in just a few clicks. My name's Bumblebee, what's yours?"

"This is Nox." Prowl introduced him. "He's one of Meister's agents."

Bumblebee took another look, frowning slightly, then hid that expression as others arrived.

In very short order, they had him freed and they all trooped back through the tunnels into the sunshine. Outside, Skyfire was waiting to escort them back to the Ark, but Nox paused.

"I have forgotten something. I must go back for it - it will only take a moment."

Prowl nodded.

"Go ahead, we'll wait here."

Nox hurried back out of sight, then activated a thoroughly illegal set of programs. A few painful moments later - thanks to the dents he had accumulated - it was not Nox but Jazz who hobbled around the corner. His armour was back to its normal shapes and his colouration back to black and white.

Sorcelling was what had kept him unnoticed when infiltrating Decepticon bases for centuries, but it was much harder to explain here on Earth with so few Cybertronians left. The others were babbling to each other, but Prowl had come forward to meet him.

"I explained that you signalled Nox and that he passed on the information to you before heading back to his own shuttle." Prowl told him. "Are you alright?"

"Just tired, and feeling stupid for getting caught like that." Jazz sighed. "Still, nice to know I can still pull that trick, eh?"

"Only until Ratchet finds out." Prowl reminded him. "Now come on, I need that data to plan this next assault."

* * *

**Spider webs**

"I hate the Earth. I hate organic slagging things that make messes everywhere..."

Jazz nodded to Prowl as they both turned in to the same corridor.

"I hear Sunny's in a good mood." he joked.

"He is upset because some small organic lifeforms entered his quarters during his absence and soiled them."

"Get it off get it off get it off! Ugh, it's sticking to me! Sides, come back here!"

"You aren't going to offer to send someone to help?"

"Hound is already in there assisting."

"Oh Primus it's crawling around in me! Get it out!"

"Hold still, Sunstreaker, I can't get to it - you're going to squash it."

"Argh!"

"What I don't get," Jazz continued as they paused at the next intersection, "is why there would be spiders only in their room and nowhere else in the Ark."

"I believe Red Alert may have had something to do with that. He did not take kindly to the last prank Sideswipe played."

"That's true, but messing with Sunny's cleanliness fetish? Dangerous stuff."

A clattering made them both turn, then they pressed against the sides of the corridor as Sunstreaker sprinted past, draped in spider webs and screaming, followed by an anxious Hound and a far less anxious but amused Tracks.

"I take it he's catching all this on the vid?" Jazz asked casually, watching them go.

Prowl looked at him archly.

"Using the security system in such a way is against regulations."

"So?"

Prowl smirked faintly.

"So it's a shame that I am currently off duty, or I would have to go and investigate."

* * *

**Fog**

Prowl stopped. The fog made it difficult to be sure, but he was confident he was close to the rendezvous point. A short while later, three other figures materialised.

"So." Ratchet grunted. "It's time, is it?"

"We always knew this was going to happen." Ironhide put in. "It couldn't remain a secret forever - it was only a matter of time."

"What do you think he'll do?" Bumblebee asked.

Prowl shook his head, feeling tired beyond words.

"I'm not sure. He remembers none of it."

"You mean he chooses to remember none of it." Ratchet growled.

"Well I for one do not begrudge him that." Prowl said sharply. "What you did..."

"What I did saved his life." Ratchet snapped back. "What you've done since is what we need to deal with now."

"You could tell him yourself." Bumblebee suggested. "He'll listen to you."

"I have tried." Prowl sighed. "He can be immensely stubborn when he chooses, and he does not wish to hear this."

"Tell him." Ironhide insisted. "Find a way."

He and Ratchet disappeared back into the fog, but Bumblebee lingered.

"You don't want to, do you? You don't want him to know."

"The knowledge will bring him to despair."

"But he has to know. He has the right to know."

Prowl nodded sadly, knowing they were right. Bumblebee disappeared too, then Optimus and Jazz arrived.

"There you are." Optimus greeted him. "How are you coping in the fog?"

"My navigational sensors are functioning perfectly, just as yours are."

"Yeah, but the visual's all freaky." Jazz grinned.

Prowl nodded faintly, but kept his focus on Prime.

"Optimus, if you have a moment I have some information I need to share with you."

"Now?" Jazz asked. "Here? Wow, what's the goss?"

"This is for Prime, only, Jazz."

"Huh. Fine. Catch up with you later, then."

Jazz headed off and Prowl composed himself then looked up at his commander.

"I fear that this will be difficult to hear, but you must listen. Please."

* * *

**Treat**

Jazz onlined and smiled as he felt Prowl shift against him.

"'Bout time you took a morning off. You work too hard."

"So everyone says, until they need me to have done something."

"The Ark won't fall apart if you disappear for a few hours."

"Sometimes I wonder."

"Aw, mech, you're still dwelling on that whole mess in the fog?"

"You know what I spoke to Optimus about?"

"A'course." Jazz chuckled. "I am Chief o'Special Ops, after all. Y'shouldn't worry, though. Prime understands it was an accident."

"An accident." Prowl mused. "Yes, it was. Do you believe that?"

Jazz shrugged.

"Stuff happens. Seriously, Prowler, you gotta learn to relax."

He felt Prowl's chin rest on his shoulder.

"I'm not the only one. You're wearing yourself out. Why don't you spend some time with Blaster today? You two hardly seem to talk anymore."

"I'd rather spend it with you. Blaster's been goin' through some stuff. He needs some space."

"Hound and Mirage, then. Or some of the others."

"You tryin' t'get rid o'me, babe? What're you up to?"

"I just wish you were happier, Jazz."

"I am happy."

"No. You just think you are."

Jazz frowned.

"Well, gee. _This_ is a depressing kind o'conversation to have on a morning off."

Prowl sighed and snuggled closer.

"I'm sorry. Alright, lets spend the time together instead, then."

Jazz smiled.

"Now there's a real treat. You takin' the whole day off!"

"Perhaps not that long." Prowl chided him. "But... awhile. You might be busy later, anyway."

"Mech, it's gonna have t'be somethin' slaggin' spectacular t'drag me away from you when I got you all t'myself!"

* * *

Graveyard

They stopped at the memorial marker, and let Jazz walk on alone the last few steps. It was a warm day, and the sunlight glinted off minerals in the stone, particularly where it had been carved with Cybertronian glyphs. Metal would have been more traditional, but was hard to come by in these quantities on this planet so stone was the best alternative.

"Jazz, mech I'm sorry." Blaster said awkwardly.

Jazz shook his head, tracing one set of glyphs in particular.

"This makes no sense."

The others looked at each other uneasily.

"We... uh..." Hound began.

"I asked them to humour your delusions." Optimus spoke up, arriving finally.

"Delusions." Jazz murmured, looking around and seeing other familiar names in the stone.

"We needed you, Jazz." First Aid told him earnestly.

"We could not afford to lose anyone else." Optimus continued. "Losing Prowl, Ratchet, Bumblebee and Ironhide all at once was a heavy blow. When you survived but seemed to still see them we could not spare the time to argue with you. Now though, with the Decepticons off Earth, it's time for this charade to end."

Jazz shivered.

"Remember how Prowl an' I snuck out while you all were playin' charades? That was here, right? That happened?"

"We played that game." Hound agreed. "But you were the only one who snuck out. There was no-one with you."

"But I remember..."

"You went outside and wandered around for awhile talking to yourself, then came back in." Smokescreen told him apologetically.

Jazz shook his head, denying what they were saying, turning his back on the memorial.

"No. No, it's not just me. What about... what about the time we wanted to throw that costume party for Halloween. Prowl wouldn't let anyone leave the Ark because of what happened the year before, but he let us have a party and Sideswipe begged him to let us commission some costumes."

"Sideswipe begged you." Blaster grimaced. "You were in one of your moods, pretending to be Prowl - he knew you wouldn't answer to your own name."

"That's ridiculous!"

"We have the security recording if you want to see it." Optimus told him evenly. "Blaster is right: it was you."

"But what about..."

He trailed off. This morning he had lain on his berth with Prowl and they had talked. He remembered that. But now that he thought about it he did not actually remember seeing Prowl. Prowl had been behind him, between him and the wall, and that was not normal. Prowl usually charged on the edge of the berth so he could sneak off to get more work done if he felt he needed to.

"No."

Prowl had been trying to tell him something. Had been sad and serious.

"No."

The accident. Why could he not remember the details? He had been there, and there had been an explosion, and then he had onlined in the repair bay. Why did he not remember Prowl being there? Prowl had been even closer to the blast - surely he should have had injuries too? His own damage had taken weeks of repairs to sort out, but he remembered Prowl coming to visit him. And Bumblebee, and Ironhide and Ratchet. And none of them were even scratched.

"No!"

* * *

**Thirteen**

Thirteen years. Just a small fraction of a vorn, and yet so very long.

"Is it true?" he asked aloud, huddling on the ground in front of the memorial stone, letting the rain wash over him. "Am I really so crazy?"

There was no answer.

Sobbing, he buried his face against his knees. How could it be true? He remembered so many details - how could he have invented so very much?

A hand squeezed his shoulder and he gasped, shuddering.

"Don't touch me. How do I know you're real?"

"You're not crazy, Jazz."

He moaned.

"No, no, I can't be hearing you. I can't be feeling you. You're dead."

"Yes, I am."

"Oh Primus, I really am insane."

"Jazz, listen to me. Please. The accident..."

"No."

"We were all caught up in it. We were all dying - none of us died immediately, but the radiation and heat was damaging our sparks. You were the furthest away, the least affected. Ratchet had an idea..."

Jazz screamed, drowning out the voice. But he could not drown out his own memories.

Flashes were returning to him. He had been down the corridor checking the way was clear when the explosion had occurred. He had felt the blast shove him back, even at that distance. His armour had been perforated by shrapnel, his visor cracked, fluid spilling everywhere. But he was barely aware of his own pain. He had raced back to the main room and found...

Arms held him tight, rocking him.

"It's okay. I'm here."

"You're not. I'm imagining you."

"Not exactly."

"Oh, so you're a ghost then?" Jazz snarled.

"In a way, yes. But also, no. Do you remember, Jazz? Do you remember what Ratchet did?"

They were all a mess, frames already starting to turn grey. Ratchet had ordered him to drag them all closer together. He had collapsed amongst them, and then... peace.

"We strengthened your spark with our own." the voice told him quietly. "A multi-way bonding of sorts, I suppose, though without the usual backlash when the partner dies. You see us and hear us and feel us because we are with you. It was the only way to save you."

"Why?" Jazz asked brokenly. "Why me? Why was it worth it?"

"Because Prime needed us. He could not cope with losing all of us at once. And through you, we managed to do more than that. Ironhide and Ratchet were both too weak to have much influence, but Bumblebee and I had been a little further back, a little more sheltered. We are with you, Jazz."

"What, and now you're leaving me? Is that it?" he asked bitterly.

"We can't leave you. We're part of you. All of us."

"So what am I supposed to do? I'm talking to a ghost!"

"I tried to tell you earlier." Prowl apologised. "I tried, but you wouldn't listen. You weren't ready. Some of it got through, but then you would just bury it again and forget."

Jazz shook his head.

"I don't want to live like this. I don't want to be here without you."

There was a long silence, then he felt Prowl's forehead rest against the back of his helm.

"No-one is forcing you to." he said quietly.

"What?"

"Optimus needed you, but now the Autobots are strong again. They've seen they can manage without us. If you chose... I would understand."

"You're suggesting suicide? You? That's crazy. Or maybe it's not, since obviously I am."

"I'm tired of watching you hurt like this. Under normal circumstances you would have died with us. Perhaps it's time to go."

Jazz raised his head and stared at the memorial, letting his gaze drift over the names, watching the water flow over them.

"What'll happen if I go?" he asked after a moment. "Who'll take my place?"

"I'm not omniscient, Jazz. I'm an echo of the mech I was, saved in your spark. I can't see the future."

He raised his face to the sky, letting the water wash over his faceplates.

"You'll be with me?"

"Of course."

He considered for a long moment, then let his head drop back down.

"You did this deliberately, didn't you?" he asked tiredly. "Made me consider it so I'd fight it."

"Actually, no. You've done so much, Jazz. Maybe it is time to rest."

"No. There's more to be done. Not sure I could do it alone, but I don't have to, right? And they all think I'm crazy anyway, so it won't make any difference if I keep pretendin' you're there. I'll fight on for a bit. See how it goes."

He felt Prowl smile and nodded to himself. It would not be easy, but he could do this. He had done it for thirteen years, he could do it for longer. And he would.


	3. Bright memories

Written for the Chinese New Year competition on prowlxjazz LJ community.

Prompts:

Mandarin Oranges - symbolizes luck  
Red - stands for joy, sincerity, properity  
Number 8 - wealth (not necessarily monetary)  
Lion dance - said to protect from evil/evil spirits  
Chrysanthemums - longevity

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, and I don't make any money from this.

* * *

**Prologue**

With the Decepticons gone from Earth and Metroplex still under construction there was little for many in the crew to do. Intending to stave off the... creativity... he knew the crew were capable of when left idle, Prowl had recommended that it was the perfect time for them to explore the planet they were currently living on and get to know their allies a little better.

The intention was to visit every country, to be seen by as much of the population as possible, and to reassure that they were different from the Decepticons. The Americans had offered to help with translators but it was unnecessary: the mechs could quickly assimilate any language available on the internet and be fluent in it within minutes, and for any other language Blaster and his cassettes could pick up a language quickly and then share it with the others.

It went down well with the locals, wherever they went, to be able to converse openly and confidently in their own language. Which was not to say there were not still cultural misunderstandings at times, but those were only to be expected.

Prowl's gaze drifted to where Jazz was deep in animated discussion with some performers in costume. The moment his partner had realised it was almost Chinese New Year he had been begging for their itinerary to be changed so they could stay for the whole festival.

It would make them late to Bhutan even if he called Skyfire up to transport them, but he had already decided to allow this indulgence. There was no telling when they would next have a lull in their duties like this, and it was a treat just to watch Jazz having fun.

* * *

**Prompt 1: Mandarin oranges**

They had been smelling it for awhile, but it got stronger as they turned into the next street.

"What is that smell?" Gears complained.

"I do believe it is mostly comprised of 2-hydroxypropane-1,2,3-tricarboxylic acid." Perceptor considered, his optics dimming faintly as he ran the analysis.

"Say what?" Cliffjumper frowned, distracted by all the people trying to catch their attention.

"The acid commonly found in the class of fruit humans refer to as 'citrus'. In this case I believe the scent is coming from the stalls selling mandarin oranges. There are a remarkable number of vendors here for that product."

"That's because it's New Years." Blaster explained, grinning as Ramhorn gave four children a little ride around the group. "I looked it up - they're supposed to be lucky."

"How can fruit be lucky?" Cliffjumper asked dubiously. "Why would they even want to be?"

"I understand that it is more that they bring luck to the humans, than to themselves." Prowl put in, watching Jazz copying some of the dance moves of the performers near one of the stalls.

"And that doesn't make you fritzy?" Gears asked suspiciously.

"A proportion of luck is perspective. If you have optimism that matters will turn out well, they are likely to. Beyond that..."

It happened too fast for him to call out a warning. Jazz spun around gracefully, nearly crushing a child who was chasing after an escapee mandarin rolling along the ground but spotting him just in time and adjusting his movement to avoid the potentially fatal mistake.

"Beyond that," he continued, "I've lived with Jazz long enough to simply accept luck where I find it. Even in fruit."

* * *

**Prompt 2: Red**

~Hey Prowler, gimme a hand would ya?~

It was late, well past midnight, but the fireworks and celebrations continued. Many of the humans were not sleeping, but the Autobots had mostly retreated to their temporary accommodation for some space where they were less likely to accidentally stand on someone in the thronging crowds.

They had been given access to an old walled temple which gave them the freedom to be in either root or alt mode in relative privacy, though there were plenty of curious humans perched on the walls. And the camera crews who had followed them halfway around the globe were also present, as always, though most of them had already retired inside to rest.

~What do you need?~ Prowl began, turning towards the shadowed area near the back then staring in surprise.

Jazz was tangled in a string of lanterns connected by loops of twine. They had wrapped around his torso, pinning one arm in place and caught on a spar on the other elbow, effectively binding him. He could probably break free on his own, but it would risk getting wax and twine beneath his plating which would be awkward to deal with.

It reminded Prowl of how Bumblebee had gotten caught in a line of fairy lights the first time they had put up Christmas decorations in the _Ark_. It also reminded him of a bondage game Jazz had once talked him into - something that he would not be averse to repeating, given some privacy.

"Done starin' yet?" Jazz grimaced at him.

Deciding regretfully not to act on those last thoughts - it would inevitably end up on film, and they would spend the next year or more explaining it - he found a loose end and began to unwind.

"Should I ask how you got yourself into such a state?"

"I was lookin' for somethin' red t'wear."

"Hmm?"

"Everyone's s'posed t'wear red, at least for the first day."

"Does this not count?" Prowl asked, tapping at the red stripe on Jazz's chest before continuing to work on unpicking a knot in the twine that was digging into Jazz's elbow.

"I guess so, but I'd like it t'be somethin' different. Somethin' new - ow!"

"Sorry."

"Nah, it's okay. It's good to have that out of there."

"I'm sure. So. True to your usually flamboyant nature, you decided that wrapping yourself in lanterns was more appropriate?"

"Uh, not exactly. One o'the fireworks fell over just as they lit it, an' it was gonna go straight into the crowd, so I jumped into the way and then rolled it into the ground. I didn't even notice the lanterns til I tried to get up afterwards. Whew, that's so much better. Well, I guess I'd better keep lookin'..."

"Wait." Prowl stopped him, reaching into his subspace pocket and withdrawing the item that he had stored there. "How about this?"

It was a copper bracelet, handmade to his instructions by an artisan in a small town they had passed through a few days earlier. He had been planning to give it to Jazz at some point, with no particular occasion in mind, but once the subject of Chinese New Year had come up he had had it modified a little further - it was now painted red, and engraved with the Chinese character for 'joy' and the Cybertronian glyph for the same.

"I did read up on this festival." he continued, slipping it over Jazz's hand and onto his wrist. "It is traditional to give small gifts, also, I believe."

"It's gorgeous, babe." Jazz murmured, twisting it around to look at the design. "I'll have t'come up wit'somethin' in return. Lemme think about it."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that." Prowl mused, coiling up the line of lanterns and subspacing it for safe-keeping until he could put it to use back in their quarters aboard the _Ark_. "This will do nicely."

* * *

**Prompt 3: Number 8**

The clock turned to eight minutes past eight, and the crowds in the street cheered. Perceptor shook his head.

"I understand the reasoning we found: the symmetry of the figure 8 and the similarity of pronunciation to other positive words, but the concept of a number bringing wealth remains unclear."

"I have stopped attempting to make sense of any of this." Prowl admitted. "I think Blaster put it best yesterday when he pointed out that our own responses to the use of the number five would baffle the humans in the same way."

Perceptor frowned but said nothing further, and they continued to watch the display from the sidelines.

Five was an uncomfortable number. Teams were never deliberately made up of five members (with gestalt teams the combined form was always counted so they were considered a team of six); buildings were designed with either four spires or six; the oldest tales spoke of five-faced enemies (though it was usually acknowledged that this was a metaphor).

For all that, it was still just a number.

Of course, 8 was something else too. Turn it ninety degrees, and it was acknowledged by humans as the symbol for infinity. And oddly, one of the most common Cybertronian glyphs for infinity was remarkably similar to the Chinese character for wealth.

But that was just coincidence.

* * *

**Prompt 4: Lion dance**

Prowl was heading back to the temple, tired of the noise and bustle and constant need to watch for people who did not take enough care to ensure their own safety, when Jazz caught up with him.

"You gotta come see this." he insisted, tugging on Prowl's arm.

"Jazz, I've had enough. You go and enjoy it, I'm going to get some charge."

"After this. Please, Prowler? It'll only take a few minutes. Blaster'll be so disappointed."

"Blaster?"

Jazz did not seem to hear him, heading away and pulling Prowl along with him. Sighing, Prowl supposed he could put up with a few minutes more.

They wound through a maze of busy streets, finally coming out in a park. A space had been cleared for yet another lion dance - a tradition said to protect the watchers from evil in the year to come. It was impressive, but he had seen several already and he was about to make that point to Jazz when he saw the other participant.

Steeljaw was bounding around and alongside the three Chinese lions, imitating them. And then, adding to the confusion, there was another lion - this one with distinctively metal legs and considerably less co-ordination.

"Rewind and Eject?" he guessed.

Jazz nodded merrily.

"Blaster's been gettin' the costume ready all mornin' since they got permission t'join in. Ramhorn didn't wanna play, but the others're havin' fun, an' Blaster's proud enough t'burst."

He leaned back a little to watch Jazz watching the spectacle. He knew his partner envied Blaster his symbionts, wanted a sparkling of his own to raise. They had talked about this many times before, and Jazz always insisted that they should wait until the war was over before taking that path, that there were too many risks.

Perhaps it was time to revisit that decision, though? Things were safe here on Earth, and would stay that way once Metroplex was online.

"Hey, you're not watchin'." Jazz chided him.

Prowl dutifully turned his attention back to the spectacle. Now was not the time to have that discussion in any case. But he filed it on his personal 'to do' list and flagged it as a priority.

* * *

**Prompt 5: Chrysanthemums**

"For you, mister robot sir." the little girl said clearly, eyes downcast, hand stretched high above her head clasping the bunch of flowers tightly.

Prowl knelt and sank down on his heels so he was lower down, then gently gathered the flowers into his hand.

"Thank you. They are very pretty."

Chrysanthemums. A symbol of longevity, or so he had been told.

There was something ironic in that. His race were not aware of any actual limit to how long they could live. With regular maintenance and good medical care and occasional replacement parts, it was theoretically possible for them to survive for thousands or even millions of vorns. The war had disrupted that and may yet kill them all, but the theory remained sound.

So very different to the ephemeral humans, who considered it a good length of time if they survived to see out a single vorn.

"I hope you live forever and protect us." she finished, bowing, then scampered off into the crowd.

Rising, he looked at the tiny organic strands in his palm. They would fade quickly if not preserved, but his memory of them and of this moment would not. That could be stored for as long as he functioned.

* * *

**Epilogue**

~You've been quiet the last few days.~ Jazz commented as they drove down the highway away from the town where they had stayed for the festival. ~You okay?~

~I'm fine. It's nice to see you enjoying yourself like this.~

~Yeah, but too many people for you, right?~

Prowl considered for a few minutes before responding.

~I found it exhausting where you clearly found it exhilarating. But that is not the same as saying I did not enjoy it.~

~True. Well, don't worry - only another month an' we're scheduled to go home for a bit, right?~

~That is the plan, yes. We need to check on the progress with Metroplex, and the first ship from Cybertron is due to arrive with the refugees. There will be much to do.~

~An' ya call _this_ exhausting.~ Jazz teased, laughing.

Prowl smiled inwardly. As tiring as this experience had been, he did not regret a moment of it, and he hoped they would gather many similar memories before they had to move on and resume the endless fight.

Bright memories of luck, joy, wealth, protection and longevity.

* * *

Happy new year, everyone :)


	4. Drabbles

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, I make no profit from this, I'm just having fun.

A/N: As a personal challenge to myself to write shorter pieces, some time ago I put a request up on my LJ for characters/pairings for a set of drabbles. These nine are the result of those requests. Most are Prowl/Jazz-centric. Thanks to kittona, 1readervb, lady_katana4454, crimsonseastorm, mirage_shinkiro, kyme and kaitou_pandora for their prompts.

* * *

**Drabble 1: Ambiguity**  
_Characters: Prowl/Jazz_

It seemed unusally formal for something as trivial as this, but they both left the maintenance bay and went straight to Prime's office as ordered.

"You haven't asked for my permission to do this." Optimus growled at them as they entered.

"Quite honestly, sir, we did not believe we needed it."

"You believed wrong. So. Which of you is planning to do this?"

"Both of us." Jazz told him.

"You've discussed this with Ratchet?"

"Hoist seemed a more appropriate choice."

"You were intending to hide it, then?"

"Woulda been pretty hard to hide, Prime."

"Hoist offered to help, otherwise we would have been happy to do it all ourselves." Prowl assured him.

"Proving that all three of you have taken leave of your senses. "

"Come on, boss, lighten up." Jazz frowned at him. "It ain't like we're askin' for much."

"I'd have thought asking permission to create a sparkling - *two* sparklings! - was asking a great deal. Now stay here until I can find Ratchet to do a full processor scan and find out what started all of this insanity."

They looked at each other in open startlement, then back at him in time to watch the Prime stride out of the office and leave them there.

"Who said anything about sparklings?" Prowl demanded.

"Beats me." Jazz shrugged. "But do you think that counts as a yes or a no for our request for matching paint jobs?"

"It seems safer for now to assume it is a 'no'."

"That's what I figured too. Oh well. Another time, eh?"

"Indeed. "

* * *

**Drabble 2: The cost of superiority (in public, anyway)**  
_Characters: Starscream/Skywarp/Thundercracker_

Starscream onlined and found himself pinned down by two other frames. His trinemates, both in recharge and showing no signs of rousing.

The other trines muttered where they thought he could not hear. Why did he have quarters separate from his trine? Did it not hurt him? Was he not a proper Seeker at all?

It made them wary around him, and that was always a good thing. Better if they thought he could resist the demands of the trine link. Better if everyone thought that.

The fact was that the Seekers in general were not liked by the other Decepticons. Their dependence on each other was seen as a weakness by many others. Some mecha enjoyed playing on that, abducting and hiding one of the trine until the other two were reduced to begging and promising all kinds of things just to ensure a safe return.

It had never happened to Starscream's trine, and never would.

From the moment they decided to join the Decepticons, and Starscream had set his sights on becoming Air Commander, they had cultivated a studied disinterest in each other. Skywarp and Thundercracker shared quarters, certainly, but the former spent most of his off-duty time with non-Seekers, and the latter brooded, and neither willingly spent any time with their trine leader.

In public.

What mecha forgot was that Skywarp could jump to wherever he liked, and could take Thundercracker with him. The length of a corridor was no trouble at all.

* * *

**Drabble 3: It's the thought that counts**  
_Characters: Hound/Mirage_

Looking at the gift, Hound struggled not to laugh. That really would not do; Mirage would be offended.

In fact, his stunned silence had already made the former noble start to fret.

"You don't like it? Carly said plants make good gifts. Particularly ones with flowers."

"You asked Carly for advice?"

He was surprised. Mirage liked to keep their relationship private, always discreet even though the entire crew acknowledged them as a well-established couple.

"She was advising Powerglide on an appropriate organic gift for Astoria, but given your interest in organic things I thought the advice might be sound for you as well. You did comment that you liked the flowers, when we saw the picture of this one in Spike's book."

He faltered.

"It was inappropriate, I suppose. I'll have it removed."

Hound pulled him into a hug, kissing him soundly.

"I love it." he assured him.

And he did. It was such a wonderfully sweet - if somewhat extravagant - thought.

He did wonder how Mirage had gotten it delivered from so far away, and just what he was going to do with it, and what the human authorities would say about it, and whether it would even survive here, but all of that was for later.

After all, it was not every day he got a fully grown and blooming _metrosideros excelsa_ of his very own (in a pot! where had Mirage found one so large?) and he intended to make his gratitude quite plain.

(A/N: see the entry for this drabble on my LJ for some pictures of what Mirage got for him)

* * *

**Drabble 4: The things we do for love**  
_Characters: Ratchet/Lambo twins_

The procedure was a delicate one. The circuitry was live, and a misplaced wire or clumsy movement could short out vital connections. Difficult, because everything was so small: visual magnification was essential.

The last connection was finally made and Ratchet sighed softly in relief that nothing had gone wrong.

"What?" Sideswipe asked, put out. "You thought I'd muck it up? I've done it before, you know."

Sunstreaker pushed his way between them through the now opened door.

"How did I let you talk me into being part of this?" Ratchet groaned. "When Prowl finds out about this he's going to glitch and I'm going to have to fix him, and then he'll throw us all in the brig."

"Doesn't sound too bad." Sunstreaker called, rifling through something in a crate. "Means some quality time with you for once."

"Besides," Sideswipe coaxed him, slinging an arm around his waist and pulling him close, "it'll be worth it."

"Unless he turns up before we even get started."

Sideswipe grinned lasciviously.

"Didn't you hear? Jazz got back tonight. Prowl's busy, trust me."

"Got it." Sunstreaker announced triumphantly, reappearing in the doorway brandishing the contraband item. "Now we'll have some fun."

"Where to start?" Sideswipe mused, locking the storeroom door again.

Ratchet looked at each of the twins, then at the custom-made mech-sized can of silly string, and finally smiled. If he was going to be in trouble for this, it might as well be for something worthwhile.

"How about Prime's office?"

* * *

**Drabble 5: Time management skills**  
_Characters: Prowl/Jazz (hey, I never said I wouldn't take the same pairing twice *shrug*)_

It was another long orn in what seemed an endless series of long orns.

There was always too much to be done, too few mecha to do it, and too little time to do it in. He knew that better than anyone, being in charge of duty rostering as well as battle planning and all the other duties that came with simply being the SIC. It had been so busy recently he had not even had to reprimand anyone for unsuitable behaviour: they had not had time to misbehave.

In fact, it had been so busy recently that he could not actually recall the last time he had seen Jazz outside of meetings or finding him already deep in recharge.

Considering for a moment, he then rose from his desk and strode out into the corridor. He passed scores of mechs, but none of them stopped him or asked why he had left his office in the middle of a shift: they simply trusted that he was where he was supposed to be.

Finding Jazz running a battle simulation with a group of potential new ops recruits, he curtly ordered Mirage to take over and instructed Jazz to follow him.

Jazz matched him stride for stride, accepting without question that there was good reason for this disruption until he walked into a particular small, empty room. His partner frowned, slowing, but Prowl grabbed his arm and hauled him in then shut the door.

It automatically locked the moment it was closed.

"What's goin' on?"

"Hush, I need to concentrate."

"Concentrate?"

"Indeed. I'm filing a report for dereliction of duty, and assigning the appropriate punishment for abandoning a duty post. Specifically, one joor in the brig."

Jazz blinked at him, then grinned and tugged him over towards the berth.

"Wanna add some more misdemeanours to that?"

"Such as?"

Jazz smirked, glancing up to where the security camera covered the cell and splaying his hands deliberately over Prowl's back as he pulled him closer.

"Well to start with, how about physical assault on a superior officer?"

* * *

**Drabble 6: Share the love**  
_Characters: Prowl/Jazz/Optimus_

Jazz resettled himself on the uneven surface as Prowl's optics flickered, internal fans whirring loudly in the now quiet room. As the flickering settled down, he reached across and kissed the Praxian passionately, trailing one hand teasingly over the wheel on his shoulder and spinning it idly.

Prowl broke the kiss, letting his head flop back.

"Give me a moment to recover." he complained.

"Why should I?" Jazz asked lightly, moving his hand to caress Prowl's waist. "I like you all dazed and sexy like this."

"I'll remember to return the favour the next time an overload offlines _you_, then."

"Go ahead an' try."

There was a rumble from the third mech present, trembling through both of them since they were both draped over him.

"That sounds like a challenge. Shall we take him up on it, Prowl?"

"Yes, I believe we should."

Jazz started to protest, but his arguments devolved into exclamations of pleasure as Prowl and Optimus began landing kisses all over his frame.

He might lose this round - and probably would - but there would always be another. And he was confident he could give as good as he got.

Later.

* * *

**Drabble 7: Does that mean I'm crazy? (probably)**  
_Characters: Skyfire/Starscream_

In the other room a door slammed and there was a spate of angry cursing.

"What was all that about?" Skyfire asked as a scowling Starscream returned to their berthroom and flung himself down dramatically.

"Just another delegation trying to get me to join the military. Not going to happen."

Skyfire pulled his mercurial mate close and stroked the airvents by his head, knowing the Seeker found it soothing.

It was not so much the military connection Starscream resented, it was the fact that they wanted to connect him to two others in a trine arrangement.

"What if they're right?" he asked softly. "What if...?"

"They're not." Starscream huffed. "I've never been trined and I'm fine - I'm not wasting away pining for it. And why should I let two strangers into my programming? I've got you, and you're all I want."

"And I love you for it Star, you know that, but if they're right that won't be enough. What if we get all the way out there into uncharted space and then you go crazy?"

"Ha, no chance! I'm already crazy. Must be if I'm in love with you! Now shut up and lets get back to where we were before that interruption."

To that suggestion, Skyfire found he had no complaints at all.

* * *

**Drabble 8: Don't know what you've got til it's gone**  
_Characters: Prowl, Bluestreak, Smokescreen_

He had been told they were there waiting for him, and the first thing he noticed as he entered the room was how quiet it was. Both of them were known to be gregarious, but both were unnaturally still.

Only joors had passed since the crew had been misbehaving and joking with each other, celebrating a recent minor victory and making outrageous claims that the war might soon end. Only joors but it felt like deca-orns. Vorns, even.

Neither Bluestreak nor Smokescreen had been physically harmed in the battle any more than he had: their roles and skills were supportive rather than directly combative, and there had been no reason to change that in this encounter any more than in any previous one. If they had found their comrades slightly more protective than normal, well the fighting had been fierce.

Neither showed any hint of accusation in their expression as they looked at him now, no anger, no blame, just exhaustion and grief.

He felt incapable of dealing with that. Perhaps he should have sent Jazz in his place? Yet Jazz had been insistent that he come personally.

"We could not have done more." he explained.

The words were inadequate. It was the truth, but sometimes the truth was not enough.

The truth was that the fledgling Neutral community had been underprotected. The truth was that he had deemed it an unlikely target and had relegated it to a low priority. The truth was that they had heard too late, reacted too late, arrived too late, and done too little.

The Neutrals had all been massacred, and the choice to throw their own forces in at the end had only resulted in unnecessary casualties and wounded. It had been the wrong choice. So why had he made it?

They moved towards him, Bluestreak cuddling close, Smokescreen putting a hand on his shoulder.

He froze in surprise. Were they trying to comfort _him_? They were the ones grieving friends lost. He had not known any of the civilians personally.

"Their deaths aren't your fault." Smokescreen told him hoarsely.

He was well aware of that - his responsibility was to the Autobots, not to Neutrals. He opened his mouth to say so, but all that emerged was a sob.

He muted his vocaliser, overcome, and they stood silently together trembling. The last of their model left alive.

* * *

**Drabble 9: The sound of silence**  
_Characters: Wheeljack, Bluestreak (relationship unclear)_

The humans have a saying: _Silence is golden_. I'm not sure they even believe it, though. There's a song that uses that line, and it seems to me it's more sad than approving.

Many of us in this motley crew are forceful characters, strong within ourselves and well able to make ourselves heard when we need to. I think the war has made us that way; the quiet, the ineffectual, the peaceable all fell by the wayside as the violence got worse.

And me? Sure, I can be noisy. Get me excited and I can talk for groons. Others are much the same, even the quiet ones in the right situation: Red Alert and Prowl giving lectures, Gears and Huffer complaining, Perceptor and Beachcomber making a discovery.

There's one among us, though, that we verbally acknowlege as loquacious, and most of the time he accepts the assessment with a smile. Bluestreak.

Really it has nothing to do with how much he talks, or what he says or how he says it. In spite of our teasing we all know he doesn't talk constantly, and he does think before he speaks and he does have a lot of good things to say. I've spent time with him just staring at the stars or enjoying some music. And he's a terrific listener when I'm rambling on.

Today's silence isn't a companionable one, though. It's isolating and dark and emotional.

He thinks no-one notices when he gets depressed, and in that he's completely wrong. _Everyone_ notices. Most steer clear, not wanting to trigger an even greater withdrawal, and seek out one of those he trusts. Recently that's me, more often than not.

Jazz was holding a furious mock-argument with several others when Bluestreak came in to slump at the table beside me, and skillfully modulated it away to a less controversial topic. Warpath had been telling a violent story about a Decepticon attack on a Neutral base he had been defending once but now claimed a forgotten errand and hurried away.

Whether it was Warpath's doing or someone else's, within moments Prowl entered for long enough to inform everyone that there had been a change of roster. He did not look at Bluestreak directly but held my gaze briefly, intently, before gesturing to Jazz who was now suddenly assigned on duty. Bluestreak roused out of his stupor long enough to make a half-sparked protest that Jazz had already done his shift, but the TIC simply grinned at him and assured him that it was no trouble at all.

Seeing my chance, I tapped Bluestreak's shoulder wheel, catching his attention.

"Looks like we've both got the shift free. Want to go for a drive through the city?"

He stares at me as though only now realising I'm there, then gives a troubled smile and assents softly.

I lead the way, chattering as much as he normally would, and gradually I start to get some responses. It's worth it. The humans are wrong: silence isn't golden, it's as black and cold as the depths of space. Gold is the spark of life.


	5. Waiting's end

Title: Waiting's end  
Universe: G1

A/N: written for the PxJ comm April challenge "Less than lovers, more than friends"

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, I don't make any profit from this.

* * *

_31 December_  
_11:57 pm_

"You may go and join in the festivities." Prowl offered into the quiet of the empty command centre. "I can manage here."

The words startled Jazz out of his viewing of a new music video Blaster had found for him, and he realised that it was getting late.

"Nah, it's cool. Human new year celebrations come round pretty fast - I'll get to the next one. Besides, you worked through Christmas on your own again an' that ain't right. You need to take some breaks, mech; even Red's relented finally."

"It's good that he did." Prowl nodded agreeably, tweaking one of the controls to get a slightly different readout. "As for me, just not having to watch over our troublemakers for a shift is enough of a relief. Your suggestion that Sideswipe and Cliffjumper and Ironhide accompany Optimus to deliver gifts to the city's poor was inspired."

Jazz chuckled, pacing over to where Prowl was sitting and draping an arm casually over his shoulder.

"I'm gonna tell Hide you count him as one o'your troublemakers."

"Please do, if you think it'll have any positive effect."

A muted roar from elsewhere in the _Ark_ announced the shift into the new year, and Jazz had a sudden wicked impulse.

"Happy new year, Prowl."

"And to you."

"It's traditional to greet with a kiss."

Well, sort of. But he could talk his way around it if Prowl chose to argue. Thankfully, the SIC simply turned in his chair to face him.

"Indeed?"

Jazz smiled, leaning in.

"Happy new year."

It was only supposed to be a quick peck; dart in before Prowl had time to react and then pull away and look innocent. But as he started with a gentle brush across Prowl's lips he found the gesture returned. Encouraged, he adjusted his weight and added a little more pressure, hand tightening on back of Prowl's chair as he fought the urge to do more than simply kiss.

After what felt like forever and simultaneously not nearly long enough, they mutually parted just enough to break contact and Prowl sighed softly.

"I've always wanted to do that."

"Me too." Jazz agreed dazedly, then registered the words and stared at him in shock. "You what?"

Prowl immediately looked flustered, shaking his head and pulling away.

"Nothing, I... Wait. You've wanted to kiss me?"

Jazz nodded slowly.

"For ages. I thought you'd be offended."

"I didn't think you were interested."

Jazz laughed softly, still not quite believing that this was actually happening.

"All this time workin' together an' never..."

He was interrupted by a message from Blaster demanding his presence in the rec room to settle a bet.

"You had best go." Prowl nodded. "They'll wonder why, if you don't."

"I'd rather stay here."

Prowl looked away.

"We need to talk, and I don't think we should do that while on duty."

"Later, then?"

"Yes. Later."

* * *

_2:01 am_

Prowl caught himself tracing his lips again in memory of the kiss, and again forced himself to stop. Making Jazz leave had done little to improve his concentration. He should be paying close attention to the automated reports, watching for anomalies; instead he found himself repeatedly replaying those unexpected moments, needing to confirm that it had been real. Seeking reassurance.

He had been Prime's personal advisor long before the war had begun, helping Sentinel Prime to navigate the increasingly tangled political world to get the results he wanted, then shifting to Optimus after Sentinel was assassinated. That Optimus had required a battle tactician rather than a political advisor had not bothered him in the least: the roles were much the same in many ways, and he was happy enough to have the militaristic upgrades if it meant he could defend his Prime next time, rather than being forced to watch helplessly.

In all those vorns, he had never met anyone quite like Jazz.

There had been dire predictions long before they ever met that the two of them would clash, but they had proven the critics wrong. They were very different, certainly, but they also accepted their boundaries. Prowl did not interfere with Jazz's agents, Jazz did not interfere with Prowl's work, and they were united in the light of a single vision: the Decepticons must not win.

That common goal averted many of the problems they might have had. That, and...

Prowl grunted in dismay as he found his fingers again rubbing against his lips and put them firmly to work typing up a summary of the data on screen. Usually he would have run it through an automatic compiler, but there was satisfaction in doing it manually sometimes.

Besides, it kept his attention on his work and off Jazz.

3:47 am

Dancing suited him just fine, right now. It meant he did not have to talk to anyone, he could lose himself in his thoughts without being asked if anything was wrong, and at the same time it burned off nervous energy.

He could easily have excused himself by now and gone back to the control centre, but he knew Prowl more than well enough to know that once he had made a decision he would stick with it. Thus, there would be no more discussion - let alone more - until they were both safely off duty.

Which led to him being here, dancing maniacally as though he were drunk like some of the others in the room. He could not bring himself to go to his empty berth alone just now and he would certainly not be taking anyone else there tonight.

His jaw clenched and he ducked his head to hide his scowl.

Initially he had been ecstatic with how well it had gone. Prowl liked him _back_. He had never truly believed that that might be so. He had fantasised about making compelling arguments to sway him, or alternatively simply pouncing on him and convincing him through practical demonstration, but he had never once allowed himself to think the infatuation was currently more than one-sided.

He had admired Prowl from afar long before they ever met; admired, but not loved. That had taken vorns of working together to develop.

He still remembered the moment when he had realised that what he felt was more than just friendship. A thoroughly inappropriate revelation in the middle of a briefing of his own staff. He could not pinpoint exactly what it had been about that moment, but it had hit him with all the force of a gestalt's punch. He loved Prowl.

It was ridiculous, he had decided immediately. Prowl was not his type. Just because they managed to get along at work did not mean he wanted to spend his off-duty time with the pedant. He had a rep to maintain and a job to do, and none of that fit comfortably with being stuck with Prowl, no matter how pretty he was.

Over time that attitude had modulated as he got to know the mech better, but Prowl was still a prude. A friend, maybe, but certainly not a lifemate, and he did not seem the type to accept less than that. Jazz would not change himself to suit someone else.

The irony of it now burned.

His reaction had been to increase his off-duty diversions, looking for something that he never found. By the time he came around to the truth - catching himself perilously close to crying out Prowl's name while in Smokey's berth - he was in a quandry. He knew now that he wanted Prowl, but what chance was there that Prowl would want him back?

Prowl had never commented one way or the other about his liaisons, but he could not possibly approve. Even though his 'sleeping around' had reduced significantly, it did not change the fact that Prowl _knew_ what he was like.

The only way to prove his commitment, he had decided, was to devote himself entirely to the mech he loved. But that was not something he could afford to do while the war was on. There were times when he and Prowl disagreed on necessary actions, times when members of the crew needed support or comfort, things that he needed to do because no-one else would.

Which was why he should not have started this tonight. But he had never, ever dreamed that Prowl might feel the same and he had thought the stolen kiss would be a memory to treasure while he waited for the right moment. The moment which had now suddenly come. Which meant...

It meant he did not know what to do next.

"Hey Jazz!"

"Yeah, Sides? Whoa, easy mech, you're not that stable!"

He caught Sideswipe's arm to balance him as the mech nearly tripped over his own pedes. Drunk, clearly.

"We're gonna have a race. You in?"

"We?"

"Me and ... uh, well no-one else wants to. But I wanna _drive_."

"You know it's rainin' out there, right?"

"Yeah. That's why Sunny won't come. Please?"

Jazz weighed up the options. He could refuse and Sideswipe might end up going on his own and they would almost certainly have to go looking for him... Well, it would be a bit mucky, but could be fun. It would fill in a few hours, too.

"Yeah, sure, why not. Lets go."

* * *

_6:12 am_

Prowl let the door slide shut behind him and cast a critical gaze across the furnishings of his room. The space was plain, functional, not overly cluttered. As the SIC he had an antechamber and private washrack in addition to the actual berthroom which itself was not very large. He could have had more furnishings, but the desk, chair and couch had been all he had ever needed.

Perhaps that was about to change.

Jazz's position as third officer earned him the same space, but when the _Ark_ had crashed much of the accommodation space had been lost, and he had voluntarily given up his room to Ironhide and Ratchet who had lost theirs, choosing to move in with Blaster, amongst the crew. It was an arrangement that had its benefits: Jazz often heard of things before they happened and could step in or pass on warnings as needed. He made it plain from the outset that he was not going to stand in the way of harmless pranking, and while Prowl had some concerns about his definition of 'harmless' he had accepted that.

Without private space of his own, Jazz had long since settled into a pattern of using Prowl's antechamber when he needed some quiet time. After his shift he would often come to chat or play a game or doze on the couch. More often than not, if he returned exhausted or injured from a difficult mission, he preferred to be there to in the open access area of the main accommodation wing. He said he felt safe there.

Some of those times, Prowl insisted on him using the berth rather than the couch. Never at the same time as his own rest period, of course, but there was a quiet thrill in just making that offer, a fluttery feeling of rightness which came with the thought of Jazz lying in his berth.

That fluttery feeling was now so intense he dared not fuel for fear of immediately purging it again. All too soon, perhaps they would be sharing that space, and more.

This was ridiculous, he scolded himself. It was not as though he was an untouched innocent; he had had lovers, of course he had. Not many, but a few.

Well, two. And none since Sentinel's death, which suddenly struck him as an incomprehensibly long time.

"Primus." he muttered, sinking down into a chair. "What am I doing?"

Jazz had had many lovers. Most of the crew of the _Ark_ at one point or another, for a start. He went into these things so casually; to him such intimacy was as normal and banal as fuelling or writing a report.

He probably saw this as just another of those diversions. A bit of fun with a friend, nothing special. And afterwards he would move on, just as he always did, and everything would remain the same.

Prowl stared bleakly at the couch. Could he bear that? After all the vorns he had secretly cherished the hope that they might eventually have something special together, could he accept that they would not? Jazz was his friend, but had so many other friends and had shared with so many of his other friends...

"I'll have to bear it." he told himself, speaking the words aloud to reinforce them. "I can't miss this chance now I have it. It may not come again. Just please Primus help me not ruin this."

* * *

_8:38 am_

Jazz held his head in his hands, Blaster's laugh and offhand comment echoing in the silence of the empty washrack.

_"So who was the lucky mech last night?"_

It was not Blaster's fault. They joked about his berth-hopping often enough, and it was never a big deal. Although he withheld names out of courtesy, the current crew was too small for secrets like that to be kept for long. Everyone always found out and that never mattered either.

It mattered now.

Prowl was intensely private. When he smiled, it was major news to the gossipmongers; when he made a joke, Ratchet was summoned in case a processor freeze was imminent. When he laughed... Actually, as far as Jazz knew no-one else in the crew had ever heard their second in command laugh.

Jazz himself may lose that privilege himself if this went badly, and he was not sure he could bear that.

"Why did I kiss him?" he growled at himself, slamming his palm against the controls so the rushing water would cover his words in case someone happened to pass by. "I _know_ better."

Over the vorns he had built a vision of the future where the war ended and in that moment of celebration he would pull Prowl aside and bare his soul and they would live together in the ensuing peace. Idealistic, perhaps, but sometimes it was the only dream he had left to cling to. When things went badly, at least Prowl was still there waiting. He dared not shift that balance, would not attempt to push his luck by asking for more earlier, and with each passing vorn he was sure that Primus was watching over them.

Coming online on Earth to the shock of learning that half the crew had been lost and those they had left behind had mostly died in the intervening millennia had made many of the survivors think hard about their relationships. Why wait and risk being left alone?

That fear had convinced him to act, but even so he had made a conscious decision to wait a little longer. The timing had to be right. If it went wrong, no-one must know he had even tried - not that he feared for his own reputation, but for Prowl's. They were both professional enough to continue to work together, but the gossip would hurt him and their friendship would fall apart.

"Please, Primus." he prayed, staring at the floor beneath him even though he knew that Cybertron was upwards from here. "Please. Don't let me hurt him. Don't let me muck this up."

* * *

_8:58 am_

"Mornin'."

Prowl looked up in surprise, then continued to check that he had all of the data he needed for the next meeting.

"Good morning. Why are you here?"

"Got nothin' better t'do."

"Ooh, careful Jazz, he'll find you something to do." Cliffjumper warned as he passed by.

Prowl subspaced all but one of the pads and headed out the door, Jazz hurrying to follow and speaking softly.

"You got a few clicks to chat?"

"I have a meeting with Optimus."

"How 'bout I walk you there?"

"It's only eighteen steps away."

"Trust you t'know the exact number. You could walk slow."

"I told you before that we would not discuss this on duty." Prowl reminded him, obliging, then spoke more softly. "I thought you might have stopped by earlier."

Jazz shrugged.

"Ended up takin' care o'Sides. Lost track o'time."

Prowl frowned, wondering what trouble the twin had been getting into for Jazz to feel the need to intervene, and whether he would have to deal with the fallout later.

"I see. Well any further discussion will have to wait until after this meeting. Unless there's an attack, we should both be off duty until midday."

"I'll wait in your room." Jazz promised, sounding suddenly serious.

Prowl glanced at him, surprised and somewhat concerned by the abrupt change of mood, but then Optimus noticed them in the doorway and Jazz's sober expression morphed into his familiar warm grin and the moment was lost.

_

* * *

9:01 am_

In spite of much joking from others that it did not exist, Jazz did in fact have an office. It came in handy right now as somewhere to duck into for some privacy where he could swear loudly without upsetting anyone else.

His processor was apparently running on minimal power this morning. 'Taking care of Sides'? How stupid could he be? The words had escaped before he even realised what it sounded like, and then Prowl had frowned and his words had been coolly formal and he had not even responded to the suggestion that Jazz would wait for him.

He _had_ intended to join Prowl once Gears and Perceptor took over for the next duty shift, but Sideswipe had been drunk and they had driven further than he intended and it had taken time to guide him back. The slippery mud and deep puddles had not helped.

How could this all be going so badly already? He had never before cared if a prospective berthmate knew his past, in fact he had been proud of it. This situation with Prowl was utterly foreign, and was now making him feel guilty when he had not even done anything to feel guilt over.

There was only one solution. He was going to have to commit to Prowl now. Completely. No more flirting with others, he would take this seriously. And he would hold back. He was willing to wait as long as it took to convince Prowl that his feelings were genuine. He would wait.

Prowl was worth it.

* * *

_9:34 am_

"Lemme talk first." Jazz insisted as Prowl stepped into his room. "Please."

Jazz looked tense, but that was surely wrong. He was not the one who had anything to be nervous about.

Prowl closed and locked the door, grabbing a few clicks longer to compose himself. Just how _did_ these seductions take place? Were they supposed to get drunk first, or did they just progress straight to the berth? It was not a situation he had ever dreamed of being in; no-one had ever found him desirable enough in that casual way to attempt it, and with his two previous lovers the situation had been different. He would just have to follow Jazz's lead.

"Very well, if you insist."

"I didn't do anythin' with Sides except a bit o'racin' tonight." Jazz blurted. "Never even thought of it, I was thinkin' about you. An' I want you t'know I ain't lookin' to rush anythin'. If you wanna wait for a bit, I'm cool with that. Honest. I really don't wanna blow this."

Prowl stared at him, reassessing what he was seeing. Jazz _was_ nervous, and for the opposite reasons to his own. The irony was abruptly clear and startled him into quiet laugh as he moved to the couch and motioned for Jazz to join him.

"What's funny?" Jazz asked suspiciously.

"We are. Had you permitted me to have my say first, I would have told you I was prepared to go at your speed, whatever you felt appropriate, though it has been awhile. I think we're both overcompensating for what we think the other wants."

Jazz sank down onto the couch, making small unconscious changes to his structure so he could curl his pedes under himself, graceful as always.

"I would never go faster than you were comfortable with."

"And I would not expect you to hold back entirely. In fact, I was rather hoping you would not."

"Not even gonna look away when you make suggestions like that?" Jazz teased, clearly having regained his confidence.

"Should I?"

Jazz smirked and covered the remaining distance, nudging Prowl back against the end of the couch and kissing him firmly before pulling away again.

"You're right. We were bein' stupid. But now I've gotcha I ain't lettin' ya go again. You're all I ever wanted, y'know."

"I have long felt the same about you."

"Then why didn't ya say anythin'?"

"Why did you not, yourself?"

Jazz looked briefly troubled and Prowl stole a quick kiss to distract him away from his worries.

"We had our reasons." he summarised. "But apparently they were invalid."

"Apparently." Jazz mused, his head tilting to the side. "Seriously, Prowler, is this really gonna work? I don't know if I'll cope too well if it doesn't, an' we do have t'keep workin' t'gether."

"We'll just have to keep working at it."

Jazz considered that quietly for a moment, then a smile grew on his lips.

"Now. What was that you were sayin' about not holdin' back?"

_

* * *

12:02 pm_

"That's odd."

"What?"

"Prowl's late putting out the rosters."

"The twins've probably gotten into something."

"I guess. Jazz is missing too, though. You don't think...?"

There was a pause, then the group laughed.

"Nah. Just wouldn't happen."


	6. Waiting's end 2

Title: The end of the world as we know it

Universe: G1  
Rating: T

A/N: additional scenes for "Waiting's end", showing the fallout afterwards. Just for the fun of it. ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, I don't make any profit from this.

* * *

12:08 pm

Red Alert muttered dire things as he stalked along the corridor. His cameras had shown him Prowl returning to his quarters after his regular meeting with Prime, and the SIC had not re-emerged. That generally meant interference of one kind or another.

Either someone had done something to make him glitch, in which case he needed Ratchet; or he had worked himself to exhaustion, in which case again he needed Ratchet; or someone had played a prank on him which had resulted in him being trapped in his quarters and unable to summon assistance, in which case Red Alert would have to go to his rescue. Or the world was ending.

One of those, and far more likely one of the first three.

It was not actually as if Prowl was missing a duty shift. He was not on duty again until morning, in fact. But on duty or not he _always_ posted the next day's schedule at noon, and he _always_ double-checked and filed the security report, and he _always_ checked in to see that everything was running smoothly.

None of this had happened this morning, which meant something was wrong. And since Prowl did not permit things to go wrong when he was in control, something - or some_one_, he was sure was more likely - had taken that control from him.

Reaching the SIC's quarters, he did not pause to call across the comm system. After all, Prowl had not made contact so it was very unlikely he was able to respond. Best to simply act quickly and get this over with.

Typing his override into the door's keypad he swept inside, then stopped in shock, his optics initially having difficulty registering what he was seeing. There was a figure in black and white armour on the couch, but he seemed to have too many limbs, including two legs wrapped around his own neck...

The scene came into abrupt focus with a twisting movement and he saw a brilliant blue visor tilt up towards him from an awkward angle.

"Prowl's a bit busy right now, Red, y'mind comin' back later?"

"Kguh. Gnnn. Argh!"

Red Alert fled, pressing himself up against the wall opposite the now-closed door and staring in horror.

It was not so much that Prowl was sharing with Jazz - practically everyone had, at some point - his hand had been... and _his_ hand had been... and they had been... _And it was the middle of the day!_

He felt his processors starting to stall. Who would have guessed they were both that flexible?

"Red?" Wheeljack asked, walking past. "You okay?"

"The world is ending." he said numbly.

"Oh." Wheeljack commented vaguely, pausing, then smiled and patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. "I wouldn't worry, I'm sure Prowl will fix it. It's amazing what he's capable of."

Red Alert whimpered. Jack had no idea. None at all.

* * *

1:12 pm

The roster had finally gone up, but it was peculiar enough to raise comment. Neither Prowl nor Jazz were on the roster at all - they were both down as off duty except in the case of an emergency. And Red Alert had been taken off duty too, though his was for medical leave on Ratchet's authority which was not particularly uncommon.

Groups of Autobots congregated in worried clusters. Was there a major offensive in the works? They had to be involved in some heavy-duty plotting, to pull out of their usually tasks. But why now? What had changed?

Listening from the vents, Laserbeak and Ravage looked at each other anxiously. Unprecedented events usually meant trouble, particularly where the Autobot tactician and chief of special operations were involved. Soundwave had to hear about this immediately.

* * *

3:28 pm

Optimus nodded solemnly to another knot of anxious soldiers, offering reassurance but not lingering.

Everyone was nervous about the upcoming battle, which would make sense if only there was one coming.

It was always possible that Prowl had left their daily briefing and then been updated with new information by Jazz, but then why would they do the planning in his quarters and not his office? And why would they not bring the rest of the command team up to speed on the situation?

There had been nothing at all of concern in Prowl's report this morning. They had discussed the small decrease in energon consumption linked to the recent good weather; Huffer and Brawn's progress in establishing a small armaments manufactory in the depths of one of the mountain's caves which would help them replenish dwindling stocks; the public relations impact of the gift distribution over Christmas and the possibility of turning it into an annual event.

"Prime!" Trailbreaker called to him. "We've got a call from the _Nemesis_. From Megatron."

Now what? Or was this just the start of whatever had upset his Second and Third? Why in the name of Primus was he in this position of not knowing what was going on?

Glad as always for his ever-present battle mask, he strode into the command centre and stopped in front of the main screen.

"What do you want, Megatron?"

The gunmech sneered at him.

"Don't think I don't know what you're up to, Prime."

"And what would that be?"

In truth, he was quite curious. From the background he could hear Starscream arguing with someone, and a phrase made it through the comm in the brief silence.

"...overreaction to something that could be nothing at all!"

Megatron growled.

"Play innocent if you choose. My Decepticons are not going to fall for your trap, we have increased our defenses and are ready for you when you come. You will not catch _us_ unprepared."

The screen went blank as the connection was cut, leaving him none the wiser.

"So we _are_ going after them, Prime?" Ironhide asked eagerly.

Optimus turned away.

"Patience, my friend. All will be revealed in good time."

Hopefully to him, first.

* * *

6:32 pm

Prowl collected his evening energon ration and moved to his usual table, sipping at it as he read over the datapad in his hand.

Bluestreak sat down across the table from him, watching anxiously but saying nothing, and after a moment Prowl lowered his datapad and regarded the gunner curiously.

"Can I help you with something, Bluestreak?"

The question seemed to be the trigger the grey Praxian needed.

"Is it true? Are we really going to rout the Decepticons? How? Why now? I mean, they're a long way under the sea and really hard to get at and it seems really dangerous and most of us can't swim any better than they can. I know you've probably got some great plan for how it'll work, you always keep us safe, well, when you can, and you wouldn't send us out on something that _wasn't_ safe when you had a choice, but this seems kinda risky and they already know we're planning something even though we don't know _how_ they know..."

Jazz had entered during Bluestreak's monologue and now paused beside the table.

"Y'know, if you were tryin' t'plan somethin' y'shoulda just said."

"I assure you, I achieved every objective I had planned for, plus a few more."

Jazz's visor sparkled with mischief.

"Oh yeah? So you're bored o'me already, then?"

Prowl reached out and took Jazz's hand, tugging him down into his lap - somewhere he was quite willing to go - and kissing him soundly.

"No." he said when they broke off. "Not yet."

"Well _that's_ a relief." Jazz chuckled, stealing Prowl's cube of energon and drinking almost all of it. "Ooh, needed that." he declared, sliding out of Prowl's lap and stealing another quick kiss. "Well, if there's a mission on I'd better go talk t'the boss. I'll shift m'stuff in later."

"That's fine." Prowl agreed, watching him leave, then turned his attention back to Bluestreak. "Now explain again why the Decepticons believe we are about to attack them?"

Bluestreak's jaw had dropped and the mech was silent. In fact, everyone in the room was staring at him in some degree of shock.

"You mean..." Smokescreen choked, "all this time you two've been... You weren't working at all?"

"We were both off duty." Prowl pointed out mildly. "Beyond that, it's no-one's business but our own."

"But you're both so different!" Windcharger blurted. "It'll never work."

"Perhaps, but that is our concern not yours. Now, about the Decepticons?"

There was a brief silence, then Trailbreaker spoke up.

"They were probably spying on us. When you two disappeared, we thought it was so you could plan a fresh assault on them - well that's what it's always meant before." he added defensively before continuing. "Megatron called Prime and said they were ready for whatever you were planning, and we haven't heard from them since. But if they knew you were just..."

"Pronging each other." Sideswipe put in helpfully, apparently regaining his equilibrium quicker than some of the others.

Trailbreaker coughed, embarrassed, but Prowl had already grasped the situation.

"Well." he said thoughtfully. "If it is the case that the absence of Jazz and myself has led to this misunderstanding, perhaps we should prolong the situation in order to gain the maximum benefit from it. If you will excuse me."

He left them gaping again and strode out heading towards the command centre only to find Jazz heading back towards him looking slightly irritated.

"You caught up on what's goin' on? Talk about makin' assumptions. Stupid fraggers think you have a one-track processor."

"Perhaps I do." Prowl offered, gesturing towards the corridor back to his quarters. "Since we are clearly not needed out here, shall we test that assumption?"

Jazz's irritation melted away and he laughed and linked his arm with Prowl's.

"Lead on, mech, I'm all yours."

* * *

The end.


	7. Indigo

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, I just write about them :)

Title: Indigo  
Universe: G1  
Rating: K+

A/N: First attempt for the May ProwlxJazz LJ community challenge "On the outside looking in". I'll probably do at least one more, but this was the first bunny that bit :) See if you can guess who's talking before you get to the end.

* * *

I was there when they first met: the coolly efficient second in command and the exuberant new spy chief. One had served the Primes for centuries, knew all the protocols, could be fazed by nothing... or so it seemed; the other was self-assured just shy of outright arrogance, casual and friendly with everyone... though only to a point. Both controlled their emotions with an iron grip, showing only what they chose for others to see.

I was there when they met, but that was not when it happened.

I was there when Praxus fell, so abruptly, so violently, so unexpectedly. The SIC remained impassive in public, ensuring all the details were covered and everywhere was properly checked for survivors. Without his focused dedication Bluestreak may not have been found before he deactivated from lack of sustenance. Even so, many soldiers muttered that he must be entirely sparkless to remain so cool and grumbled that they were working for a drone. They did not know how much he was hurting and he allowed them to see none of it, but the third in command must have seen something for he ordered his staff to shelter the emotionally battered tactician, to combat the vicious gossip and to ensure he got space he needed to grieve.

I was there at Praxus, but that was not where it happened.

I was there when the saboteur broke down. The news came through of a Neutral base raided, one amongst so many, the news so commonplace by now that everyone was numb to it. But in some way never explained, this one was special. The TIC railed openly, demanding permission to track down the perpetrators, and then physically assaulted the SIC when he would not grant it. His grief was loud and violent and everyone on ship feared the outcome, feared to approach this usually genial mech. But the still-injured tactician dared to go where others would not, and while neither ever spoke of what occured in those long groons behind closed doors when he emerged the worst of the storm was over.

I was there when the saboteur lost control, and though many believed that that was the beginning of their intimate relationship, I know differently.

The truth is that it was not love at first sight, it was not realisation after compassionate care, it was not the result of a passionate and emotional exchange.

I was there on a quiet night when nothing had happened for orns and the SIC had taken pity on the bored command centre staff and had let them all go, leaving only himself and the TIC on duty to keep watch. I was there in the companionable silence when the conversation of two mechs walking down the corridor drifted through the open door bemoaning the fact that their selected date had come and gone in the betting pool of when Prowl and Jazz would finally shift in together. I saw them look at each other in startlement, then away again just as quickly and each find an excuse to focus on work and studiously ignore what they had heard.

Within a vorn they were a committed couple, sharing both quarters and berth, still efficient in their work but their relationship clear in the shared smile, the casual caress, the tender glance. It warmed all those around them; a flare of light in the darkness, of hope holding back the despair so prevalent in the interminable war.

But it could not last.

When one of them died so suddenly, so unexpectedly, so tragically, the other was far away. He had a crisis of his own to cope with, and in spite of the rumours they had never bonded so he did not feel it, he did not know, and there was too much happening for anyone to think to tell him.

Later, so much later, too late to even say goodbye to the physical form that remained for others had already had sent it away, he hid himself away to try to understand how he had lost the most important thing in his life, to understand how he could possibly go on alone.

"Please." he begged, seeking forgiveness from me, and from him.

"Please." he wept, fearing that forgiveness might not be granted.

"Please." he whispered, wanting the loneliness to end.

I was there. I heard, I saw.

And when eventually he could bear the solitude no longer and came to me, I reunited them.

I was there when they met again, in a different time, a different place, once again strangers to each other: one a half-trained but gifted ninja amongst a group of outcasts; the other a highly regarded elite soldier, stifled by his surroundings; each of them yearning for something they could not quite define, something more.

This time there was some recognition, though neither understood why. And I wait and I watch. And when this ends they will try again, and again. And they will always find each other.

And I will always be there.

* * *

A/N: That's right, this was Primus watching over them.


	8. Sparkles

Disclaimer: I don't own them and I don't make any money from this - I just do it for fun :D

Title: Sparkles

Universe: G1-AU (Obsessed!verse)  
Characters: Prowl/Jazz  
Rating: T

A/N: optimus prime 007 noticed that Jazz calls Prowl 'Sparkles' in fics other than SoaL. This is the story of how that nickname came about prior to the events in _Obsessed_. For the purposes of the fic, just take it as read that Prowl has been working for Prime for most of the war but Jazz has been elsewhere and only just joins the crew shortly before the _Ark_ leaves Cybertron. This is set in Iacon, before takeoff.

* * *

Jazz roused from his nap, sensing the approach of his lover, his sparkmate... his bondmate.

Prowl settled on the berth beside him, a curl of desire barely distinguishable under a layer of fond amusement.

"I bet I can guess what you're thinking about." he murmured in greeting.

Jazz laughed aloud, pressing their foreheads together.

"Can't help it. I don't know how I kept from jumpin' you in that meetin'. I was expectin' it to be special, but this..."

I know what you mean." Prowl murmured, cuddling closer. "I'd forgotten how good it is just to have you in reach."

Jazz let his vision dim. just enjoying the feel of Prowl's body in his arms, the warm flow of Prowl's thoughts and feelings melding with his own at this proximity. A stray thought of his own passed between them and Prowl stirred.

"No, Prime does not know. None of the crew do. They belive we met for the first time today."

"First time, huh? I'm not even sure I can remember our first time..."

Prowl snorted and pulled away a little, resting his cheek on Jazz's shoulder.

"Difficult to believe when you're remembering it right now. Anyway, we can disabuse them of that notion easily enough."

"I dunno, I kinda like the idea." Jazz grinned. "Be kinda fun, courtin' ya. Seducin' ya. Sounds like a lotta fun. Besides, it's got a charm to it: love at first sight, an' all that."

"I doubt very much this crew will believe I'm capable of such a thing."

"That's cause you only let'em see the on-duty version. Wait, what was that?"

Prowl twitched, but reluctantly repeated the thought and Jazz choked.

"They think you're a _virgin_? Mech you weren't an innocent even way back when I first met ya!"

"I have been with this crew for a long time now, and have never shown any hint of interest in anyone else. They explain this within their own realm of experience... Jazz? What are you plotting?"

"We gotta plan you losin' your virginity. Pref'rably wit'an audience."

Prowl squirmed, interested but also uncomfortable with Jazz's penchant for exhibitionism.

"How about just the security camera in my office?" he offered as a compromise. "I've been trying to get the security director to remove it for vorns."

"Ah but what if he likes what he sees, Sparkles?" Jazz murmured, nuzzling the top of Prowl's helm.

"Well he... _Sparkles_?"

"Yup. Your new nickname. S'what I'd call ya if I really thought you were that innocent."

Prowl huffed, disgruntled.

"Why do I put up with you?"

"Because y'love me?" Jazz suggested, kissing him.

He felt Prowl's lips curve into a smile under his own and a hand curl teasingly under his bumper.

/Maybe./

/So, Sparkles. Wanna role play? Could be a lotta fun./

/Ask me later. After I've welcomed you back properly./

* * *

A/N: no, I'm not planning to continue this. It was just to explain the name. These two are far more openly a couple than most of my versions, but the bond must have been pre-war otherwise others would know about it. They've been 'catching up' when they could, but this is the first time they've been working together.


	9. Important decisions

Title: Important decisions  
Characters: Prowl/Jazz  
Universe: G1-AU (post-war with both of them surviving)

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, I make no profit from this, I'm just having fun.

* * *

"You're early." Prowl commented, turning to meet Jazz's welcoming kiss.

"Mm, didn't take as long as they said. I thought you'd be long done with that by now, though."

"It needs to be right." Prowl frowned, catching his hand and tugging him around to sit on the couch. "Once the plans are submitted we cannot change them."

Jazz chuckled, settling beside his mate.

"Sparkles, you've spent vorns makin' plans involvin' hundreds o'mechs in all kinds o'situations. This is nothin' compared to that."

"How typically casual of you. Here, take a look. What do you think?"

Jazz took the datapad and scrutinised the schematics, disappointed to see Prowl had made a major change to what he had had that morning.

"What happened to th'doorwings?"

"They were unnecessary."

"I liked'em."

"That's because you don't have them."

"He's gonna be activated in peace-time, Prowler. Besides," he added, sliding one hand along the bottom edge of the nearest such appendage, "they've got their positive side too, right?"

The doorwing fluttered under his touch and he let his fingers wander.

"Anyway," he continued, putting the pad down so his other hand was free to help, "you promised Blue you'd think about usin' a Praxian frame. You don't wanna disappoint him."

"Bluestreak will survive the disappointment. He's three times my age." Prowl muttered, squirming under Jazz's ministrations and clearly distracted.

"Doesn't stop him treatin' you like his creator. You adopted him, an' he ain't lettin' go."

Prowl growled as he realised the touches were going to remain teasingly light, and pulled Jazz into his lap.

"Perhaps we should have him move in, then? A convenient minder for the little one when we're busy?"

Jazz kissed him in apology, splaying his hands and stroking more firmly.

"He can do that from where he is. Me, I like a bit o'privacy."

"We're not going to get that with a sparkling around." Prowl pointed out, hints of static starting to mar his speech as he approached overload.

"Better enjoy ourselves now, then, eh?"

It did not take much more to bring his lover to a low level release, quivering beneath him. Jazz was eternally fascinated with the effect a few touches to those sensory panels could have on his normally stoic and controlled partner. Not to mention the pleasure of just watching them twitch and dip and flutter, expressing his emotions far more openly than his facial plates.

The universe definitely needed more doorwings.

Prowl stirred and Jazz pressed a lingering kiss to his lips, hugging him.

"See? Positives."

Prowl sighed, not sounding at all put out.

"Fine. Doorwings it is."

"Cool. Now lets see what we think about addin' a chevron..."


	10. SoaL outtakes

**Story of a Lifetime outtakes**

Rating: T

I've just hit 300 reviews on SoaL on FF(dot)net, which probably rises to a bit over 400 when I count in the PMs and LJ comments for this fic, so I thought I'd do a SoaL "special" made up of a few of the many scenes I ended up writing several times before deciding on the final cut. Sort of like a bloopers reel - the story as it wasn't. Don't get fooled, now: this stuff **didn't** **happen**, it just could have. :)

Hopefully they'll work as a 'thank you' to everyone who takes the time to let me know they're still enjoying SoaL. You guys are all wonderful ^_^

Disclaimer: as always, I don't own or make money from, I just play

* * *

_Alternate scene in Part 2: Jazz gathering info on Deltaray, pretending to be nothing more than a storesmech concerned about his roommate._

Jazz slid onto the bench and handed one of the cubes he had been juggling to each of the three mechs already seated there.

"So?" he asked anxiously. "What'd ya get?"

Two of them looked at the third for approval, then back at him.

"Delta was definitely the one to feed the rumour mill." the orange mech spoke first. "Went bragging to his own team who then spread the word."

"General consensus is he's a smooth talker who gets what he's after, one way or another." the silver one added. "Nothing improper, no history of tangles, just tends to look for the hard to get type and doesn't give up easy."

"Kinda like someone else we know." the orange one smirked.

Jazz returned the expression briefly then focused on the silver one.

"So what now? Is he a do it an' drop'em type, or will he play it out?"

Silver shrugged.

"He varies. No real long term commitment, though. And this one? Word is, it was a bet."

Jazz nodded and fell silent until they had both finished their drinks and moved away, leaving him with only one companion.

"What I don't understand is why you're so concerned about this." the remaining mech mused. "You've had plenty of opportunity to seduce him if you wanted to, regardless of Curveball's teasing. I understood you had decided not to."

"I did." Jazz nodded firmly, careful to show no ambivalence whatsoever. "But I have to share a room with the mech, and he ain't takin' the close scrutiny all that well. He's somewhat short on experience, an' I'm pretty sure this meant a fair bit more to him than to Delta."

"Ah. He doesn't realise Delta may not be so committed?"

"I hope he does." Jazz sighed, then finished the last of the oil in his cube. "Well, thanks for finding the informants, Raj. I 'preciate it."

Mirage sighed.

"Have you ever considered it might be easier for you if you varied your role when you were on ship?"

"Hey, I'm just Jazz, no-one special." he grinned back. "I leave all that role-playin' stuff to you experts."

Mirage shook his head in mild exasperation and held out his cube.

"In that case, since you're so clearly in my debt, another of the same would be very nice."

* * *

_Alternate start to Part 5: Jazz returning to the Ark surprising Prowl; before Jazz & Sides first meet. Prowl's been on a front line mission planned by Quickquadrant and is now on medical stand-down._

Prowl onlined to a familiar touch and stared in surprise.

"You're back so soon?"

"It's the way it works, sometimes. Miss me?"

Prowl shifted to the side so there was room for Jazz to lie beside him more comfortably.

"I always miss you."

Jazz hummed at that and ran a finger delicately down a fresh weld in Prowl's arm, making him shiver.

"Don't. The solder's still soft."

"Mm." Jazz murmured, then rested his head against Prowl's shoulder. "I don't like hearin' you've been on the front line, babe. Worries me."

"We're at war."

"Yeah, but you're a tactician, not a fighter. An' you're too young t'be havin' t'fight for y'life."

"It's the reality we're living in. You do it all the time."

"In m'own way."

"Meaning without backup." Prowl pointed out, then shook his head. "That's just a scratch, Jazz. I was fine. And Prime actually approved one of my plans."

Jazz gave him a strange smile and opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated as the comm chimed.

"You need t'get that?"

"No, it'll just be Sideswipe."

"Sideswipe?" Jazz frowned. "He's one o'those new warriors we picked up from the _Fantalex_, right?"

"How do you know things like that? You've barely even been here since they arrived."

"It's my job t'know."

"You answer that way remarkably often. Is there anything that _isn't_ in your job description?"

Jazz slid one hand down his chassis, smirking.

"Jackin' you ain't, but I figure I'm allowed a bit o'leeway when I'm off-duty."

* * *

_Omitted scene from Part 7, Prowl's precautions around his office when he's being attacked and poisoned on a dismayingly regular basis. Note in particular the guard on duty._

Prowl unlocked the door to the Tactical Office and closed it behind himself, looking for any changes.

Everything seemed just as it had been since he had locked it, and he relaxed a little. The guards outside had claimed no-one had been near, and the alarms that should have pinged him with alerts of any intrusions had remained silent, but it was also reassuring to have his own system of surety.

He smiled wryly to himself as he stooped to pick up the stylus that had clattered to the floor as he entered. It had been very carefully balanced to drop the moment the doors were opened. An intruder would certainly have noticed it, and may even have gone to the trouble of replacing it to trigger again, but they would likely not have realised that the clatter also covered the very quiet click of a simple mechanical counter that measured the number of times the door had been opened. Each time he left he checked the figure.

Today the count was correct. The room had remained undisturbed in his absence.

His assistants and aides all thought he was unbearably pedantic, insisting on being the first to enter and the last to leave. In fact, they believed him superstitious. He did not care. Thus far a little extra caution had been more than warranted.

Putting the stylus down on his desk for now, he re-opened the doors and waved in his two aides who were waiting boredly outside with Acetone, the head of the security squad who kept a permanent guard on the room.

One of the first security measures he had taken on being promoted was to rearrange the office and have the doors open for the majority of the time. The only time they were closed was for when he and his assistants were discussing sensitive tactical data, something that was not currently an issue since he had no-one left to hold those discussions with.

The terminals and planning tables had all been carefully positioned so that it was impossible for anyone passing by to see anything they should not, and even entering the office as far as Prowl's desk or delivery basket was not enough. In addition, his desk was directly in line with the door, with full view of anyone loitering.

No-one would sneak up on him, no-one could accidentally see what they should not, and there were alway at least two guards within easy reach in case things went wrong.

Safe.

Time to get to work.

* * *

_Omitted scene from Part 7, Sideswipe trying to help Prowl learn to protect himself._

"No, no, not like that. Like this."

Prowl watched as Sideswipe demonstrated again, shaking his head faintly.

"I can't do that."

"You're just not trying, that's all."

"If I get it wrong, I'll land flat on my back. Need I be explicit about why that would be a bad result with my frame type?"

"But if you practice it, you'll get it right."

"By way of harming myself in the interim, which may result in the requirement for medical attention."

"So? Everyone hurts themselves a bit when they're learning."

Prowl shuddered at the thought. He still recalled quite clearly the agony of the last time he had hurt his doorwings, and that had been by carelessly catching it on a protruding beam while inspecting a destroyed base. He had no intention of inflicting such injuries on himself intentionally.

"I fail to see the purpose of it." he declared, turning away.

Sideswipe chased after him.

"I'm trying to keep you alive! You've got to take this more seriously."

"By which you mean specifically that I need to acquire more hand-to-hand combat skills."

"Yeah."

Prowl shook his head.

"Sideswipe, I appreciate your concern and your attempt to assist, but I do not have time to spend on this. I have far too much to do."

"You can't afford _not_ to make time." Sideswipe countered. "What if you're attacked and there's no-one around to help you? It could happen."

Sadly, that was true. There had been several near misses already.

"I suppose I could make some time for this. Perhaps if we give up our scheduled games?"

Sideswipe grinned broadly.

"Now _there's_ an idea. I could do with beating _you_ for a change."

"We shall see." Prowl said, turning away. "But for now I have work to do."

* * *

_Alternate scenes from Part 2: Deltaray saying goodbye and the fallout that follows prior to the epilogue where Prowl learns he has died._

Prowl frowned, not sure he understood.

"When?"

"In a couple of groons. Virex and Prime finished their talks last shift and he's charging now, so when he gets up we'll be off."

"I see. Well it's been a pleasure working with you."

"More than just working, I hope." Deltaray retorted with a smile.

"I... well... of course, but that's..." he stammered, shocked that the lieutenant would raise the matter so casually in an open corridor with mechs passing by.

"And I was thinking." Deltaray continued, reaching out to stroke the nearest edge of Prowl's doorwing. "Maybe we've got time for one more fling before I head off?"

"I'm not sure." Prowl tried to think through the welcome/unwelcome sensations. "My shift doesn't end for another four groons..."

"Why wait til then?"

He snapped his doorwing back behind himself and focused.

"Just what are you suggesting?"

"Well you're just the punishments officer." Deltaray shrugged, stepping deliberately closer to pin him up against the wall and playing his hands over Prowl's abdomen. "No-one's gonna care if you slip off for a groon or so."

"You can't be serious."

"Sure I am. Oh, hey, I've got an idea. Why don't we use your office? That way you'll be _at_ work, right?"

_(fake scene break because I don't want to use a line-break here but FF(dot)net keeps removing what I put in!)_

Jazz stepped into the room quietly, noting the doused lights, and closed the door behind himself.

Moving surely across to his own berth, he sat down and set the cubes he was carrying down beside him. The mech on the other berth sighed heavily and turned on the lights, revealing that he was lying on his side facing the wall.

"You don't have to sit in the dark. Put some music on if you like."

"You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Jazz waited but nothing more was forthcoming.

"Hungry? I brought you some energon an' some oil."

"You have them. I have no appetite."

"It ain't that bad, Prowler."

Doorwings trembled, rattling softly against the berth.

"I disgraced myself. I earned a lecture and a formal warning about conduct unbecoming of officers. And I delayed the departure of Ultra Virex's party."

"Huh. Well imagine how bad it coulda been if you'd got caught actually _doin'_ it." Jazz considered.

The doorwings stilled in what Jazz suspected was indignation and then Prowl lurched up and spun around to face him, confirming the reaction.

"I would never do such a thing!" he hissed furiously. "The very idea!"

"Easy, easy!" Jazz raised his hands defensively. "I'm on your side. More importantly, so's the rumour mill. Delta mighta convinced the powers that be, but no-one else aboard'd believe it for a nanoclick. An' if y'ask me, it's only Quad who's cross about the whole thing, an' that's only cause Delta'd stopped pronging _him_."

Prowl's shocked expression made him wince.

"Slag. You didn't know that? Rumour had it that that was what set this all off in the first place. Sorry, Prowler. Everyone's sure you knew."

Prowl shook his head sharply, averting his gaze.

"I should hardly be surprised." he said tightly. "Particularly given some of the things he said."

"So what _did_ set it off?"

"He wanted me to abandon my rostered duties to... to..." Prowl began, then broke off.

Jazz sighed.

"He doesn't know you very well then, does he?"

"Well, as you say." Prowl offered bitterly. "Everyone knew he was berth hopping. He was only interested in me to get under my panels."

"Prowler..."

"Don't, Jazz. These things happen, right? Most mechs've had it happen more than once. I'm just showing my inexperience by getting upset by it. Perhaps if I were more social and had access to this wealth of knowledge everyone else seems to share I would not have been caught out so badly."

"If I'd known, I woulda warned ya, I swear."

Prowl sighed, slumping.

"I can't imagine leaving these quarters ever again. What everyone must think of me now, I just don't want to know. It's immature and I just don't care. I don't want to be here."

"It ain't that bad. Really. No, you gotta believe me, it isn't. Most of'em're havin' a good laugh about it, sure, but at _him_, not at you. Word is you actually decked him."

"A superior officer." Prowl groaned, putting his face in his hands.

"A superior jerk." Jazz corrected him. "He deserved what he got."

"A groon of reconstructive surgery in Ratchet's bay?"

"Three groons, from what I heard, but only cause the doc decided he couldn't be bothered doin' it himself and used him as a trainin' case for his interns. _He_ seems to have some strong opinions on who was in the right on this one."

"But they don't even know what it was about!"

"They know Delta tumbled ya." Jazz pointed out, deliberately choosing a slang term. "They also know you're always professional, even when you're angry - like when you had all that paint all over your doorwings that you couldn't get rid of, or when they hacked into your schedule so you were in the wrong places all day. You didn't blow your top during any of that, so the way they see it, whatever Delta did musta been big. An' he musta deserved every bit of it."

Prowl did not respond, which made Jazz smile. Clearly the tactician thought much the same, whatever the circumstances had been.

* * *

Thanks again, everyone! :D

-Tara


	11. SoaL drabbles

**Story of a Lifetime drabbles to celebrate over 600 reviews**

A/N: Many thanks to sakon73, Christina, shanfiction76, 1readervb, ntera, whirlwind, bluebirdsoaring, The Perfect Spell, kagome37, and Flutter Flight for the prompts which generated what you're about to read. I just hope that the requesters are happy with the results!

Thank you, too, for all the messages of support at a time that has been quite difficult, I really do appreciate it, and I'll get SoaL back on schedule for you all just as soon as I can get the muses to behave. In the meantime - enjoy the drabbles ^_^

Disclaimer: HasTak own the Transformers, I just borrow them a bit

* * *

**Title: Favours between friends**  
**Request: At one point Prowl asked Jazz if anyone would bother to tell him if Jazz... didn't come back from a mission. Jazz said he would get Hound to do it.**  
**Timing: part 4, chapter 5**

Hound came out of recharge disoriented, his chronometer cheerfully telling him that he was only one third of the way through his charging period. A blinking symbol on his HUD indicated why he had woken: a message from Meister.

With a groan, he sat up and ran a quick reboot of his systems, trying to think why Meister would want him for a meeting now. Nothing obvious came to mind and he gave up trying: the mercurial saboteur was always hard to predict.

Mirage stirred as he rose, but Hound patted his arm and murmured for him to return to charge. No point both of them being disturbed.

At least the rendezvous point Meister had set was nearby. It only took half a breem to get to the

briefing room, and he found Meister staring out the porthole into space.

"What's up?"

"I need a favour done. Personal, not work."

"By me?" Hound was surprised.

Meister usually turned to Mirage for these things when they came up. They had known each other much longer than Hound had been part of the team, after all. On the other hand, there was no reason why he _shouldn't_ help: Meister had certainly done enough to help him in the past, including encouraging Mirage to give him a chance.

"Sure. What do you need?"

"If I get killed out there, would you tell Prowl so he's not waitin' for me t'come back?"

Hound gaped. Ops agents generally avoided ties to non-ops personnel, and Meister was the epitome of an ops agent. In his on-ship role of "Jazz" he had had lovers, certainly, and had plenty of friends too, but none of them were special in any way.

"Does Curveball know you're committed?" he blurted without thinking.

Meister scowled.

"I ain't committed. Prowl's just... Never mind why: I'd like him to know, that's all."

"Well sure, I can do it. But won't he think that's strange, me just coming up to tell him?"

"Nah, he'll be expectin' it." Meister shook his head. "He knows we're friends, an' he knows you'll hear before anyone else."

Hound suddenly understood why he was doing this rather than Mirage. Everyone knew that Mirage worked for Curveball, but most assumed that Hound was just his sparkmate, not an agent too. It would be okay for Prowl to know "Jazz" was friends with Hound, but to know that he was friends with the notoriously unfriendly spy would raise questions.

More interesting, though, and far more worrying, was the thought that Meister might have fallen for someone. Would this make him more cautious for his lover's sake; or more reckless to get through his missions quicker?

"I'll do it." he confirmed. "But I don't want to. You make sure I don't have to, y'hear?"

Meister gave him a slow sardonic smile and headed for the door.

"I'll do my very best, an' y'know my best is _very_ good. Give my regards t'Raj - Jazz's gotta do his exit scene now, headin' off in search o'supplies an' a bolthole t'hide in. I gotta get ready."

* * *

**Title: Rewriting the job description**  
**Request: when Tripwire and the others found out who the conspirators trying to kill Prowl were.**  
**Timing: part 7, chapter 5**

Tripwire sighed, glowering at the pile of work still to be done, then opened the next file and set in to it.

He had always been a mech who liked order. Before the war he had been an Enforcer based in Polyhex and his earliest impressions of the war had been of the chaos it created. Working his way up to his current position, he had approved of the rigid hierarchy. Mecha should know their jobs, and stick to them. Medics should concentrate on medical matters; supply staff on stores; soldiers on fighting; security staff on discipline.

The _Ark_'s carefully structured order had been disrupted in recent vorns, and he did not like it.

It was not so much that he disapproved of how good Prowl was at maintaining discipline with the crew, he told himself. The mech was efficient and fair and remarkably good at identifying the culprits: these were all good things. No, the problem was firstly that it was not part of the strategy team's role, secondly that Prowl was too valuable in the strategy team to be transferred into security, and thirdly that when he went away - like he was now, on Kalisi - everything fell apart.

"Sir?"

"I'm busy, Offcut, can it wait?"

"It's important, sir."

"Well hurry up, then." he frowned as his lieutenant closed the door. "What is it?"

"It's about the attacks on Chief Prowl, sir. It's Acetone."

"He's found who's involved?" Tripwire perked up at the thought of being able to recall the other mech and clearing his desk.

"No sir. He's involved."

Acetone? The squad leader in charge of Prowl's safety? The mech who had done all of the investigating to this point? Surely not.

"Who says so?"

"Signalfire, sir."

A junior communications ensign? How would he know?

Accepting the datapad Offcut was holding out, he skimmed through the content. Apparently Blaster - a comms mech from Ovacalix, of all places - had traced some unusual signals back to a junior comms officer called Outcry and when he decrypted it he found sensitive information. He had passed it back to Signalfire who had been visiting Ovacalix, who had started his own investigation and made the link to Acetone.

It was tangled enough to make his processor ache, but the data was compelling and there was a lot of it.

"Who knows of this?" he asked, reading on.

"Just me, sir. I... well you see..."

Tripwire grunted, not looking up.

"I know about you moving in with Signalfire. Did you tell him about our investigation?"

"No, sir! I didn't mention a thing. He brought this to me because he didn't know what to do with it. It's not his area, you know. And he _reports_ to Outcry. Well, his shift boss does. He couldn't show it to anyone else."

"Mm. Alright. Have Signalfire come here at the start of the next shift."

"I think he has courier duty..."

"Then someone can cover for him."

"Yes sir."

Acetone, Tripwire marvelled. It had never occurred to him to suspect _him_.

After Quickquadrant had been exposed, he had shuffled all of the staff assigned to the Tactical office just in case there were others involved. Acetone had previously been working in the brig. Had he already been a Decepticon agent then, or had he been converted later? Who was in charge here, and how did they get their orders?

He opened a communications channel to call Curveball in to tell him, then paused and closed it again.

He had no doubts of Curveball's loyalty, but this was a security matter. He would handle it. It was his job, after all.

And then he would get Prowl back to deal with the rest of this dross, whether he had found some adequate assistants or not!

* * *

**Title: Naivete**  
**Request: a scene where Prowl and Sunstreaker interact without Sideswipe as a buffer**  
**Timing: part 9, chapter 3 (before Nolan's threats)**

Sunstreaker leaned against the wall, arms folded, bored to distraction.

Sideswipe was off somewhere with Camber until tomorrow collecting resources so there was no chance of a reprieve: today he was utterly stuck with Prowl. And since the mech was basically just a drone the way he did _nothing_ but work, that meant spending an entire orn being rusted into place just standing here.

Prowl had been sitting at that desk since before dawn and it was now nearly dusk. No-one had interrupted them for the past 1.72 joors - he had been keeping count - and once it got dark there would definitely be no more interruptions. Nolan's staff always clocked off shift at sunset. Prowl never did.

"You may sit down if you wish - you are not required to stand." Prowl offered unexpectedly, the first words spoken in groons.

"What makes you think I want to sit?"

"You're fidgeting."

"I've done longer duty shifts than this, standing."

"I'm sure. I'm simply pointing out that you need not do so this time."

"Why? Because you're going to keep working til I drop offline?"

Prowl did not answer.

"It won't make them respect you, you know." Sunstreaker offered after pause.

"I don't need their respect."

"Yeah you do. It'd make all this easier, for a start."

"It will get done either way."

"But it's not what you deserve."

Prowl actually stopped typing to look up at him.

"What I deserve." he echoed. "Surely respect is earned, not expected."

"You're the CTO. You've won us hundreds of battles. You shouldn't have to do any more."

"Clearly this is not enough."

"They just don't like you because you're bringing the war back to them. They've been hiding from it all this time. The whole lot of'em are cowards."

"They are Autobots." Prowl corrected him. "And as such, they must follow orders and do their duty as required."

Sunstreaker scoffed.

"Never knew you were that naive."

Prowl continued to look at him for a long moment.

"What?" Sunstreaker asked eventually, irritated by the silent stare.

"Perhaps you are right." Prowl mused, the admission nearly startling Sunstreaker into falling.

"Say what?"

"Nevertheless, I do not have time to cater to their insecurities." Prowl continued, returning to his work. "They will simply have to become accustomed to me, and I'm sure that that will come in time."

"What makes you so sure?"

Prowl smiled.

"I was once told much the same about you and your brother."

* * *

**Title: Something to savour**  
**Request: a scene where Jazz is pretending to be someone else (either before he meets Prowl or on one of his trips while setting up his current job)**  
**Timing: Jazz's first trip to Darkmount, pre-Part 1 but referred to in part 3, chapter 4**

The new arrival was trying to be discreet, but was also clearly trying to get a good look at everyone and everything. The minicon Smokecloud, called Cloudy by most, exchanged an amused look with Rumble as they brought up the rear of the small group.

Frequency had reached Darkmount the previous orn, requesting transfer to the communications unti. The records claimed he had been fighting in one of the units near Vos, but a couple of groons' work had uncovered some inconsistencies in his documentation.

Much more likely he was an Autobot spy.

It was possible that he was what he said he was. Or at least mostly what he said he was; no-one's background was completely clean. Either way it worked in their favour: they had a new communications specialist, or they had a new source of information for Soundwave to analyse.

Communications was Soundwave's area, not even the guards came inside unless they were part of his unit. It kept everything secure. And if anyone was found to be wavering in their loyalty to Megatron, Soundwave dealt with them personally.

The thought made Cloudy's amusement fade. He was only here today because one of the other workers had caught a rust infection and Soundwave liked to use minibots as escorts. Probably made him feel superior... Cloudy clamped down on that thought hurriedly, ducking his head. Everyone knew Soundwave could read thoughts and it was not a good idea to annoy the boss.

"So you're from Perihex?" Rumble asked casually.

The new mech was startled to be addressed, having been staring at some crates being loaded into a shuttle.

"Yeah. I was a shipping coordinator."

"Nice job. You liked it?"

"Yeah, I..."

"Most civvies went Neutral or Autobot." Rumble continued casually. "Why'd you choose Megatron?"

"Well he's going to win, right? It's just a matter of time. No point fighting it."

"Smokecloud." Soundwave interrupted, not turning. "Remain."

Cloudy grimaced but did not complain and took up a guard post outside the building they had arrived at as Rumble followed Soundwave and the newbie in. He wished he were back in the barracks. He had a nice cube of midgrade that was just what he felt like right now.

A joor passed. If he had been on any other duty he would have wandered off by now - but not with Soundwave. No, he had to remain in place until he was given permission to leave. Everyone knew that.

The door finally opened, but it was the new mech and he was alone. Strange. Still, not Cloudy's place to question. The mech walked hurriedly - somewhat nervously - away from the building and disappeared around a corner.

A groon later, Rumble came rushing out.

"Where is he?"

"Where's who?"

"Frequency."

"Who? Oh, the newbie? He left - went that way."

"Why didn't you stop him?"

"I wasn't told to. I followed my orders." he added defensively. "I was to stay here. _Here_. Right here."

Rumble cursed and raced off in the direction Cloudy had pointed, where the other mech had gone. Others swarmed in that direction, clearly alerted, and Cloudy sighed. Turned out he was right: the new mech was a spy after all. Not his problem, though. He stuck to his orders.

Later, when he was finally relieved of his post, he arrived back at his quarters and opened the cupboard containing the long-savoured cube of mid-grade. He never got this out when others were around or he would have to share. He did not want to share. He dared not even get it out if Soundwave was nearby in case he mentioned it to one of his cassettes. He definitely did not want to share with them.

Grinning to himself, he reached in to where it was stored, but his hand touched something else. A datapad? What was that doing in there? Pulling it out he found it contained a small number of music files. One of them seemed familiar and he absently selected it to play.

With the first notes, the fog disappeared from his mind. Meister glanced around the room at the signs that would tell him if anyone had intruded. No-one had. The cube of mid-grade that was the key to his cover, the item that dominated his role's thoughts, remained untouched.

Wasting no time, he opened his chest armour and then his spark chamber. A tiny data-recorder was stored there and he quickly stored the data he had gathered today before concealing it again. If anyone got so far as looking there, they would already know what he was and he would already be in a lot of trouble.

Of course, if the medics ever realised what he was doing, he would be in a different lot of trouble. He was careful, he knew what he was doing.

Moving across the room he pulled out an empty cube from the disposal - the same one he had been using for this purpose for over a vorn - and returned to kneeling in front of the cupboard. A final glance around the room for a sign that Mirage had come looking for him, to tell him it was time to leave, but no there was no signal. So he settled the datapad back into the cupboard and awkwardly triggered the first track on the datapad.

Cloudy shook off his daze and frowned down at the empty cube. Had he finished it already? A shame, he must make an effort to savour it more, his supply would run out fast if he didn't.

Closing the cupboard he threw the cube casually into the disposal and headed for the berth. He still felt undercharged, but not so much that he wanted to waste another cube. No, he would fuel up at the commissary tomorrow morning, and save his special brew for another time.

* * *

**Title: Observation**  
**Request: an interaction between Prowl and Prime... from Prime's point of view... i.e. what does Optimus think of his tactician right now (when his actual age is unknown)**  
**Timing: between parts 7 and 8, after Prowl returns from Kalisi Station**

Optimus stepped into the doorway, watching his Chief Tactical Officer work.

Prowl was so quiet and self-contained that it was easy to overlook all the things he did. But while the mech had beeen away he found himself turning to get Prowl's opinion, or opening a comm channel to ask a question, or looking for the latest report which should have been on his desk by this time of the orn.

None of the command team had ever really been close. Tripwire and Broadcast had their own interests, Quickquadrant had been standoffish, Ratchet fought acceptance of any responsibility beyond his medical bay and Curveball was not close to anyone.

At first, Optimus had thought that Prowl fitted into the group perfectly. He was restrained, respectful, more disposed to listen than to interrupt though he could certainly get a point across when needed.

But once he was off-ship, Optimus realised that the group dynamic had changed.

With Prowl around meetings were more productive, more efficient. He did not interfere in the other areas, but somehow his manner was contagious. It became almost competitive, having reports ready for discussion with all the details. Partly because if they did not, Prowl would always have a question that the others could not answer.

So perhaps it was not so much that Prowl fitted into the group, as that Prowl had fitted the group around himself.

Broadcast had been impressed by him, Tripwire approved, Ratchet was ecstatic that the casualty numbers had dropped. Even Curveball had the occasional good word to say about the CTO, and he was very hard to please.

Whatever it was, Optimus thanked Primus that he had Prowl working for him. And if anything ever happened to his Second or Third in command, he knew who he would be promoting.

"Did you need something, Optimus?" Prowl asked, noticing him at last.

That was another interesting aspect of Prowl's behaviour: he was ever-respectful, but never fawning. He was not awed by the role of Prime, he simply wanted to get on with the job.

"Some company over a cube of energon?"

Prowl cast an appraising look in his direction, making Optimus feel like a sparkling being assessed before a request was granted by his mentor. Then the Praxian nodded with a small smile and the moment passed.

"Allow me to save my work and I would be happy to join you."

* * *

**Title: Necessity**  
**Request: a scene involving those responsible for Prowl's creation (mentor, engineer, medic)- pre or post activation, either would be excellent. It's fine if names are not named.**  
**Timing: Approximately 30 vorns before part 1 chapter 1**

He paced, frustrated. They were late. Where were they?

He had been very clear about the terms of this arrangement. He would supply the programming and the frame and ensure that an appropriate mentor was found to raise him, all they needed to do was supply the spark. A simple enough task, if a distasteful one.

If only there was another way. These made sparks were abominations and he hated being forced to use one for such an important purpose. Primus had never intended their race to behave like crude organics and _create_ life: they had Vector Sigma and the priests to ensure the controlled and dignified and _blessed_ continuation of their race.

Correction: they had _had_ Vector Sigma and the priests.

He flushed his systems with cooler air, willing himself to calm down. It was the fault of this war. The war that had cost them almost their entire culture. Hundreds of thousands had died and not been replaced. Traditions had been lost, quite possibly forever. Millennia of careful development according to Primus's will had been shattered in just a few short centuries.

The war had to end. That was not just a wish or a desire, it was a fact. It had to end before they completely destroyed themselves. And if the wrong side finished it, then all was lost.

What the Autobots needed, more than anything, was someone who could counter the strategic planning of the Decepticons. But their ranks were made up of civilians, they did not have the programming or processing baselines to match the top military tacticians. Which was where he came in.

He did not have all these skills himself, but he saw the problem. That was enough. He gathered what he needed, made contacts, and now it all came down to this. One sparkling.

The roar of an engine caught his attention and he turned just in time to see a large jet stride into the room cradling a small casket in his hands.

"You extracted already?" he demanded before the jet could speak. "Why? You were to bring them here first! What if it had gone wrong?"

"They changed their minds." his colleague told him grimly. "They decided they didn't want to give up the sparkling. They had him extracted and tried to hide him."

Fools. What had they been planning to do? Without a frame and programming and the right equipment they could never have raised it on their own. They could even have killed it during the extraction - it was a delicate procedure. Were they crazy enough to prefer that their creation _died_ rather than go through with the deal?

"Fine. Then give me that and you can go."

The casket was a small containment chamber. It would sustain the newspark for a short time. Long enough to ensure a safe transfer.

"What about the activation? I still haven't seen the base frame you're planning to use..."

"And you don't need to." he snapped. "I thought you said you didn't want to know the details?"

"I just want to be sure he makes it. Bad enough separating him from his carrier without even letting them see him activated - I want to be able to tell them everything went well."

"It will. Just go."

The jet looked unconvinced, but finally left. No doubt planning to come back in a few joors just to check on them.

"But we won't be here by then, will we?" he murmured as he opened the casket and stared down at the bared spark.

Strange, how a made spark looked just the same as a true blessed one from Vector Sigma. Not that it mattered. He knew of the difference, and that was enough.

"Alright." he muttered to himself, using a pair of quartz-headed tongs to lift it from the casing into the frame's core chamber, taking extra care not to touch it himself. "Lets see."

He closed the chamber, systems whirred as they started up, blue optics began to glow.

He smiled. Everything was going perfectly to plan.

* * *

**Title: Logic**  
**Request: Sometime way back (Part 3 Chapter 1, I went back to check _) it was mentioned that Prowl got involved with someone after Deltaray, but before Jazz. Something about that? Who the mysterious individual was, if they're still on the flagship, etc**  
**Timing: After part 2, before part 3**

It was a logical response to a complex problem.

His relationship with Deltaray had been the cause of a great deal of comment amongst the crew, something he had found utterly mortifying. Jazz had explained that it was because it was unusual for him to have such social contact, and that if it were less uncommon it would not have occasioned such a fuss.

So logically, he needed to have more... company.

A logical response, but not so simple to enact. He had tried approaching several others, cautiously, but they were either in existing relationships or simply not interested. And then Highjump had approached him.

The mech was certainly free with his compliments. And with his hands. Prowl did wish he were not quite so demonstrative in public, but on the other hand it did seem to have the desired effect: after awhile the gossip died down again.

Highjump did not rush him. They met after their shifts, they talked, they went to some of the off-duty entertainments.

Touching gradually shifted to include kissing, and Prowl found himself wavering between wanting more and wanting to stop. Highjump's slow approach put Deltaray's selfish rushing in stark relief, and he was grateful to have time to learn, but at the same time there was never quite the excitement he had felt with Deltaray. He just could not get enthusiastic about it.

Kissing in public then moved into kissing in private and more intimate touches. No sense of being rushed this time, but embarrassingly he found himself often waiting boredly while his lover roused out of overload. It was never that strong for him.

Perhaps he did not have the emotional programming to truly experience this? he wondered. Or perhaps it took longer to develop? That theory was dismissed the first time Highjump really paid attention to his doorwings. He had known those panels were sensitive, but had not thought of them in terms of intimacy.

Even so, it all felt like more of a chore than something he wanted.

He explained to Highjump that he wanted to end the relationship, and the other mech did not seem upset. In fact, within orns it appeared that he was sharing with someone else.

Pleased that it had ended so cleanly, he returned his focus to his work. Now that he knew about physical relationships, he could recognise the signs and avoid unfortunate entanglements. Just one more experience logged and stored. Nothing more was needed: he could function perfectly well without the support of a partner, and he would.

It was only logical.

* * *

**Title: Seeing past the madness**  
**Request: something about Quickquadrant? Like his thoughts on Prowl, Prime, Curveball, any of the other officers, or Autobots in general.**  
**Timing: part 5**

Quickquadrant accepted the datapad, noting the way Outcry held it. This was not an official communiqué, it must be handled with care.

Pacing slowly around the room, he knew his assistants thought he was keeping an optic on their work. In fact it was just a way to stop any of them chancing to see that this message was encrypted. Not that he did not receive encrypted messages from time to time, but still the less suspicion there was the safer he remained.

The content of the message soured his mood further: those he worked for wanted more detail about the upcoming run for supplies.

He turned the pad off, subspacing it, continuing to pace.

As a tactician, he knew the odds. The Autobots were losing. They had never really had a chance against the better armed, trained and resourced Decepticons. It was futile. He had realised that long before he had gotten entangled in any of this: the Autobots would lose, and helping them would only delay the inevitable.

And yet he had. Why? He did not recall. Converted by a stirring speech by the Prime, perhaps. Or more likely, a drunken declaration.

Well, it did not matter why he had done it, the fact was that he had. And another fact was that he actually liked some of his colleagues. Optimus was an inspiring leader; Ratchet and Tripwire and Broadcast were all experts; Curveball... well, Curveball was different. But all that mattered there was that the ex-Decepticon never guessed his own ambivalence.

To be fair, at first he had done what he could to turn the tide. There had been chances to turn things in favour of the Autobots, and sometimes those chances had been realised. Sometimes he began to hope.

But hope was foolish. The data did not lie. The Decepticons would win, and would annihilate anyone who stood in their way, it was only a matter of time.

His chance to survive had come by accident. A file left carelessly on his desk, and when he returned for it he found a junior security officer reading through it and making notes.

He could have turned him in to Tripwire. He should have. Instead...

His optics landed on a screen where a scenario was playing out. Predicted 92 percent success rate, nearly fifteen percent higher than any of the other suggestions.

He did not need to look at the detail to know whose work it was. Prowl.

The problem with that mech was that he truly was good at this. Not like these other idiots who Quickquadrant had carefully groomed, Prowl had a talent for strategy. He was a threat to Quickquadrant's safety and should be disposed of.

And yet, Quickquadrant was ambivalent. What if Prowl really _could_ turn this around? What if this war truly _could _be won? He had made his choices long ago, on the evidence he had, but what if he had been wrong?

Shaking his head he rejected Prowl's proposal, deleting it and randomly selecting one of the others to consider.

He had to be right. Prowl was too idealistic to see the truth, that was all. And all those deaths he had... permitted... were merely an act of mercy, a way of reducing the number who would inevitably suffer Megatron's retribution when the cause was finally lost.

To believe anything else was to invite madness.

* * *

**Title: Chameleon**  
**Request: Anything PJ oriented.**  
**Timing: before the argument about bonding in part 5**

Movement roused him straight out of charge into full alertness. Where was he? Why was he so relaxed when there was someone else present?

Memory clicked in, and he stared down at the peacefully charging form beside him, one doorwing twitching faintly.

Tension draining away, he wondered idly if his lover had any idea how complicated all of this was. Or how risky, to start a relationship with an ops agent who was so often undercover.

It had happened before: accidents, innocents getting hurt because the agent briefly lost track of his situation. Not that he had ever gotten into that kind of a fix.

He never had trouble remembering who he was supposed to be.

"_I'm Quartz." Background: miner._

"_I'm Dustbuster." Background: maintenance worker._

"_I'm Thinstripe." Background: junior medtech._

He had had a thousand names, a thousand physical appearances. On a mission he knew exactly who he was and what he was supposed to say.

"_My name is Nox, I am a regulatory technician. Pleased to make your acquaintance."_

"_I'm Judder. Engineer. Mind where you're stepping - some of those lines're live."_

"_The name's Claptrap, who's asking?"_

He had a goal, a purpose, something clearly defined. The few aliases he recycled had distinct personalities. None of them shared an accent or mannerisms. Endless joors in front of mirrors and around other agents trying to catch him out had assured him of that. Not that any of them knew all of his appearances.

"_Excuse me, I'm new here, could you show me where I can find the administrator's office?"_

"_Look, I don't want to cause any trouble, I'm just here to have a good time."_

"_Sure I've been here before. Whaddaya mean you don't remember me? I'm hurt!"_

The most difficult roles, though, were the ones he played most often. And recently, this had become the hardest one of of all.

"Jazz?" Prowl murmured, rousing. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." he murmured, settling back down with his arm wrapped over his berthmate. "Go back into charge."

For the first time, he wished this was not just another role. He wanted this to be real, wanted to be _Jazz_, permanently. But all he had was the moment.

Foolish for someone such as him to want more, particularly with such an innocent as Prowl. It could never be more. He should in fact break this off now before it got any more serious.

But not tonight. Not right now. For now, he wanted to dream.

* * *

**Title: Glitch**  
**Request: early interactions between Prowl and Jazz - outtakes as it were. Perhaps daily life, or maybe moments when Prowl comes to realize what Jazz does for his work, or maybe just sweet fluffy stuff.**  
**Timing: between Parts 4 and 5**

_Scene 1_

"What's the problem?"

"I'm in trouble, I need..."

"You? Come on, you're never in trouble."

"Will you listen for a moment? I've got to talk to Ultra Helion in three groons and he's a Praxian."

"So?"

"He wants to reminisce about Praxus!"

"And?"

"And I've never been there!"

"What, never?"

"Of course not, you know that. I've never even been to Cybertron, let alone a city that was destroyed at the start of the war - what am I going to say to him?"

"Tell him you forgot."

"Jazz, I came to you for help, not jokes."

"I'm serious. Tell'im your mem'ry centres got damaged an' y'don't remember. Primus knows it could even be true, the way you glitch so often."

_Scene 2_

"I dunno that this is such a great idea, Sparkles."

"I'm confident it will work. If I can learn to recognise the symptoms as they occur and divert myself before it becomes serious it will be a great improvement."

"Yeah but if you're wrong the medics're gonna convert me into a drone. It doesn't do ya any good, glitchin' all the time."

"Which is precisely why I need to practice this. Please? It's better that it happens under controlled circumstances than in a pressure situation."

"Okay. Okay, I'll try t'crash your logic centre. I'll bug ya til either y'crash or ya just can't take it no more. But remember, you started this."

"I know. So. How do we start?"

Pause.

"How 'bout we go up to your office an' I frag you on your desk? Uh Prowler? Prowl? Slag. Great start."

_Scene 3_

Jazz raised his hands protectively as Clinker glared at him.

"Don't look at me, I didn't do anythin' this time!"

"This is the fifth time this decaorn!" Clinker growled.

"He just keeps freezin' up!"

"I see that. What did you do?"

"Nothin'!"

"What did you _do_?"

"Look, all I did was ask him which he thought came first: tech or organic..."

_Scene 4_

Both waited nervously, then Prowl shook his head faintly.

"Try again."

Jazz grimaced.

"It ain't all that easy findin' things t'shock ya with, y'know."

"You've managed adequately thus far."

Jazz folded his arms, staring at him for a long moment before finally speaking.

"Blaster is fallin' for ya."

Prowl frowned, doorwings twitching.

"By which you mean he is attracted to me? No. That I don't believe."

"So why does he keep hangin' around when he says he's gotta get back to Ovacalix? Why did he ask ya t'spend more time wit'him an' his cassettes?"

Prowl struggled and Jazz watched him closely, but after a few clicks Prowl shook his head.

"Well, if he is," he said slowly, "I shall have to make him see that I am not interested."

Jazz grinned.

"Well done, Sparkles. I thought for sure that one'd get ya."

"But was it true?"

"Nah, Blaster's just bein' friendly. It's just his way. Now if ya wanna know who really _is_ gettin' a bit warm when ya come by..."

Prowl shook his head firmly, stepping forward to slip his arms around Jazz's waist.

"If it's anyone other than you, then I just don't care."

* * *

**Title: Entrance exam**  
**Request: more Jazz stuff with other crew members, perhaps even pre-Prowl**  
**Timing: during the war, before Prowl**

"Pretty, ain't he?"

Hound looked up to see a minibot leaning against some nearby ruins, then nodded, returning his gaze to the blue and white mech up on the rise.

"Sure is. I can't believe he's really a spy."

"Why not?"

"Well he's obviously high ranked, for a start. Just look at that detailing."

"No-one's ranked anymore, 'cept for the faction ranks." the minibot opined.

"That's true. Still... he's too flashy. Surely that gives him away?"

"He's got his talents at bein' unnoticed."

"So have you."

The minibot cocked his head slightly.

"What's that supposed t'mean?"

"It means I think you're actually Meister." Hound said seriously, tearing his gaze reluctantly away from the handsome spy and focusing fully on his conversational partner.

The minibot frowned in confusion.

"Who?"

"I'm sure of it." Hound insisted. "I'm good at my job, and Curveball told me you were on this planet. You're him."

"I came here with Chief Curveball an' Mirage, but I'm just a pilot. Name's Blister."

"That might be the name you're using, but you _are_ Meister."

"You're crazy."

"No, I'm right. I'm sure I'm right."

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Hound found his certainty starting to waver. He had been very sure: this minibot's tracks were slightly too heavy to be normal, the lack of attitude - either aggrieved or subservient - which was a base characteristic of all minibots talking to standard-size models, and the fact that Meister was known to be able to sorcel.

It _had_ to be Blister. There were two others present who seemed slightly clumsy in their roles, but Meister's reputation preceded him: the clues were too obvious, they were decoys. And there were a handful more who were simply wrong for one reason or another.

"So." Curveball called, approaching flanked by the silent spy. "I need your answer, Hound. Get this right, you're coming with us. Get it wrong and I'll have to find someone else."

"It's him. He's Meister."

"Who's this 'Meister' character?" Blister complained. "What's this all about?"

"You're sure?" Curveball checked.

"Yes. So. Am I right?"

"No idea." Curveball shrugged casually. "I can't tell who Meister is until he lets me know. Half the time even _he_ doesn't know. But if you're _sure_, then when I give the codeword he should convert. Ready? Blister: tetrahedron."

Hound watched the minibot closely, but there was not so much a flicker of his optic. Nothing changed.

"Well I guess that's that." Curveball sighed regretfully. "Only one chance and all that. Come on, we'd better get to the shuttle."

Shattered, Hound started to follow. After a moment he heard steps behind him as Blister caught up.

"So what gave it away?"

"What gave wha...?" he stopped in shock and stared at the black and white standard-sized mech now there.

"Always lookin' to improve, after all. Oh, an' the name's Jazz. Pleased t'meetcha, Hound. I think we're gonna work together just fine."

"So you're really not Meister, then?"

Jazz laughed, slinging an arm across his shoulder.

"Like CB says, sometimes even _I_ don't know."

* * *

**Title: Exemplar**  
**Request: what would Megatron say/do when he finds out he missed the 2 medics? I'm kind of interested to know.**  
**Timing: shortly after "The Medic" (Echoes)**

Megatron scowled at his soldiers, more to watch them flinch than because he was particularly annoyed with them.

Things were going well. Not ideally, not as planned, but acceptably well and he was savvy enough to know that a certain level of disappointment was inevitable. Not that he had to let anyone else know that.

Already his Decepticons controlled two thirds of Cybertron, the Enforcer ranks had been decimated, the High Council destroyed, the old military leaders executed.

His two strongest subordinates were impressively fearsome and unquestionably loyal. Soundwave was a communications expert with such powerfully sensitive equipment that he could sometimes parse the signals within a mech's own CPU, giving him the reputation of a telepath. Shockwave was a researcher and scientist whose disdain for his subjects - or rather, victims - was widely known.

The former wanted to serve a powerful leader; the latter wanted freedom to perform his experiments without the oversight of an ethics committee. Both were more than satisfied with the current arrangements.

Not that he relied on such flimsy proofs of loyalty: he had had Shockwave install loyalty programming in Soundwave, and he had Soundwave regularly test Shockwave's loyalties. They watched each other.

In fact, there was only one spot of rust to mar the perfection of his venture so far: the newly emergent Prime and his group of ex-civilians.

"Why?" he hissed at his commanders, flanked by his two lieutenants who glowered along with him, "Why have we not captured the Prime? Why has this little rebellion continued? There are only a handful of them, why are you all so incompetent?"

These Autobots could do him no real harm. They were an annoyance, a faulty line of code in a perfect program. One that simply needed to be erased. Still, the sooner they were gone the sooner all would accept his prowess. And he would rule forever.

"My lord," one of his soldiers whispered, grovelling, "we attack them, but they always return."

"Then continue attacking. They will soon run out of new recruits."

"But they're not all new, my lord. They are being repaired."

That caught his attention and he gestured for two of the guards to drag the speaker closer. Not to allow him to walk, oh no, that would show too much consideration.

"Can you prove this?" he demanded.

"Yes, my lord. We have... I have images of their medics. Here, my lord."

Muttering filled the room, and Megatron allowed it as he nodded to Soundwave to take the offered plassheets and analyse them.

"Two medics." Soundwave said after a moment. "One unidentified. The other: designation, Ratchet. Surgeon. Unaccounted for, to date."

So. The Prime had two medics. That was unfortunate, it would delay the takeover. It did explain, however, how so many civilians were inconveniently discovering how to turn off their security protocols and pick up weapons.

"What is your name?"

"Torsion, my lord."

"Hmm."

He scanned the room, his humour of the morning gone.

"I want this _Ratchet_ found and brought here, along with his friend. The one to do so will be rewarded. As for you, Torsion, you will go with Shockwave."

"M-my lord? But I..."

Megatron swooped down, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him high, snarling.

"You will be an example to others: to shoot with a laser, not with a camera!"

* * *

**Title: Reunion  
****Request: Sunstreaker with his group finally finding out where Sideswipe is, due to Prowl's investigation... You could also show the scene where Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are in the brig**  
**Timing: part 5 chapter 4**

"And then I says... I says to him... um, wait, where was I up to?"

Sunstreaker laughed along with the others as the newbie stammered his way through the story, already well-overcharged after just a few unwise gulps of the powerful high-grade he had been slipped. Given time, the rookie would either settle in or leave. Most did the latter.

This was a tough unit. A close one. They watched out for each other and kept each other alive.

The Decepticons hated them, hated the fact that they persisted. It was not so much about territory gained or battle successes, because those things were rare, but that they survived to fight on was a wrench in Megatron's cogs.

Most of Cybertron was in Decepticon control. Only Iacon held firm, and this outpost at what had once been Praxus was the outermost defence of that besieged city. The front line. Haven for anyone still caught out in Decepticon-held territory, first target of any land-based attack.

"Hey Sunstreaker! You in here?"

Looking up he saw Top Spin scanning the crowd from the doorway. The medtech spotted him at about the same moment and shoved his way through to him.

"It's just a scratch." Sunstreaker huffed. "It'll heal."

"Not that. Commander wants you."

Rasp wanted him? But they had just had their squad debriefing only a groon earlier - if there was anything to say why had it not been said then?

Knowing better than to argue, he heaved himself up and limped out of the room. His ankle _would_ heal, in time, but perhaps he should have someone look at it anyway. He did not want to be pulled off duty. He hated being bored.

"You wanted me?" he demanded, entering the command room.

Rasp grunted.

"You're a mess. Don't you ever clean yourself up anymore?"

"What's the point when we're back out there again so quick? Is that what you wanted?"

"No. We got a query from Ovacalix, you're being looked for. Some tactician called Prowl wants to find you."

"Never heard of him. Why's he interested in me?"

Rasp paused to look at his lieutenant who shrugged, and the commander sighed heavily.

"Apparently your brother is on the _Ark_ and he..."

"Sides?" Sunstreaker gaped. "He's not on Cybertron? They've found him?"

"Seems like it. Now... Sunstreaker, wait! Where are you going?"

"The _Ark_!"

_Two orns later..._

The cell was four paces wide, six paces deep. He had measured it out several times, unable to be still.

Was this all another hoax? So many times there had been rumours that Sideswipe had been seen, but so far they had all proven false. If Sunstreaker had not known in his spark that his twin was still alive he would have despaired long ago.

On the other hand, all of those other sightings had been on Cybertron, that what what kept him there. This was different.

Clatter from the end of the corridor made him look up and he froze in place as a spark-achingly familiar form rushed forward to the humming bars.

"Sunny! You're here... whoa, Sunny, what've you been doing? You're a mess!"

He could not speak, barely able to process the fact that his brother was finally here in front of him after all this time of searching. And Sideswipe barely seemed to have changed. No scars to be seen, his armour was clean, his paint fresh, his optics bright with sufficient charge.

The guard opened the cell door and Sideswipe leapt inside to hug him tightly, barely noticing when the door was locked again behind him.

Sunstreaker squirmed away, acutely conscious of his poor physical state, and stared at his twin for a moment, then punched him in the face.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Where the slag have you been? I've been _searching_ for you!"

"I've been searching too!" Sideswipe countered, rising.

"Not as hard as me."

"Have too."

"Have not."

"You left Cybertron!"

"You didn't?"

"Shuddup!" the guard roared.

Sunstreaker grinned and found the expression reflected.

"Missed you." they both admitted simultaneously.

And with that, the vorns of worry and loneliness melted away.

"So." Sunstreaker broke the moment. "How long before I can get a proper wash?"

He was home.

* * *

**Title: Reunion** **2**  
**Request: something about Jazz's true identity. Jazz is only a fake identity (I think?) and Meister sounds like a code name.**  
**Timing: sometime before part 1**

I know you.

If I could call out to you... ah, but I don't think I can right now. Besides, I'm not sure you would respond to the name I know. I've watched you, and you don't respond to the name you were activated with. Instead you are called _Jazz_.

It's not a bad name for you, really. You always did love music, and always were laid back. Those parts of your identity are still pretty well fixed.

Your accent has changed, though, and that's very strange. At first I thought you must actually be someone else, someone I didn't know. But I'm sure you're not. I'm sure you're the mech I know.

Well. _Knew_.

A lot of mecha reinvented themselves at the breakout of war. You, though... there's something about the way you changed. Something not right. I don't know what, but something's strange.

And maybe that's why I made the mistake. I hesitated in talking to you. Instead, I talked to one of your friends, mentioned the name I knew and asked if they knew it. And now I'm in trouble.

We're walking through the crowds on the way to the shuttle bay. Walking past you. Your gaze passes over me without recognition, and that seems to please the mechs who have trapped me.

I don't know what will happen next. They say that if I just disappear, they won't cause me any trouble. They'll even help me disappear, will get me onto a ship to a Neutral colony. One of them is very important, so maybe it's even the truth.

Or maybe they just want rid of me.

I don't know what you've gotten mixed up in, Rimshot, I just pray to Primus you can get yourself back out of it, because I can't help. Not anymore.


	12. Due diligence

Title: Due diligence  
Characters: Prowl/Jazz  
Verse: G1-AU, post-war  
Rating: T  
Prompt: silver lining

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, I just have fun with them

A/N: birthday gift for wicked3659

* * *

Prowl came online to the feel of a warm body settling against his own and powered up his optics to regard his partner quizzically.

"I thought you weren't going to be back until morning?"

Jazz snuggled in closer, pressing their foreheads together.

"Raj decided he wanted t'spend the rest o'the night prayin' at the temple, so there wasn't much point in hangin' around."

"It's a little late to be having second thoughts at this late stage because Hound wasn't a noble."

"He ain't gonna call it off. It's a big step for him, is all."

Prowl relaxed.

"That it is. But they are good together."

"Mm-hmm. So are we." Jazz smiled back, hands beginning to wander.

Prowl kissed his partner warmly, marvelling yet again at how everything had turned out.

When they had been forced to flee Cybertron, jeered at by the victorious Decepticons who had been content to simply rule their home planet now that Megatron had gained control of the Matrix, everything had seemed so dire. And yet if not for that frantic evacuation they might have still been on Cybertron when Unicron arrived to destroy it.

The Decepticons had fought the monster and eventually defeated it but their numbers had been decimated, their leaders lost along with their home and purpose. A few refugees had found the new home the Autobots had established, begging for asylum, and had brought with them the Matrix.

Since then, since the threat of invasion had finally gone, everything had been peaceful. The war was over, there was a new Prime, and the comforts and luxuries of civilization were beginning to return to them. Such as the security of life pairings and the creation of new life.

True they had lost Vector Sigma, but there were other ways and in the past few decades they had made the most of them. Which was not to say continued diligence was not warranted.

Jazz chuckled softly, following his thoughts.

"We don't gotta try t'populate the planet all by ourselves, babe."

"We've only had four." Prowl pointed out. "Ratchet and Wheeljack..."

Jazz cut him off with a kiss.

"I ain't even gonna try t'keep up wit'them, babe. They can have their gestalts, I find it hard enough t'keep up wit' one newlin' at a time."

"You get jealous of them taking my attention."

"Sure do." Jazz agreed stoutly, pulling him closer and stilling the hand rubbing at his hip. "You sure you wanna carry again? I could take a turn."

"You whined all the way through carrying Shattercall and swore you'd never do it again." Prowl reminded him.

"True. You do do it easier. Jus' didn't want ya t'feel I was leavin' ya to do all the work, is all."

"Not all the work." Prowl smirked, sliding his leg over Jazz's suggestively. "Did you lock the door?"

"O'course."

"Good."

Yes, as dark as things had seemed all those vorns ago, it had turned out for the best; the silver lining to a dark cloud. Both of which were perfectly good options for names.

Perhaps now wasn't quite the time to tell Jazz this time he was hoping for twins.


	13. The gift of hope

Title: The gift of hope  
Prompt: Hope is born in the most unlikely of places  
Verse: Bayverse with G1 Jazz (lines up with my fic "Primus blessed")  
Rating: G  
Summary/Notes: G1 Jazz's first Christmas in his new home. Written for the prowlxjazz community "Delightful December" challenge, 2010.

Additional note: did you notice that I posted two chapters today? 'Due diligence' is also new :)

Disclaimer: I don't own them, just play with them

* * *

His companion was gone from his side when he came online, and Jazz tracked him up a steep hill through the snow only to be summarily told to remain at a distance and wait quietly.

An hour went by, the wind dying down, the sky lightening as dawn approached until finally the first rays of sunlight appeared.

"Merry Christmas." he offered.

The words garnered no response, so he tried again.

"Prowl, what...?"

That earned him a hushing gesture and the other mech continued with his work.

Jazz stared out at the snow-covered landscape slowly being illuminated around them. So isolated from everything, it was simple to believe they were the only two functioning beings on the planet. Not that that was at all true; this planet was teeming with organic life.

Jazz had always liked to learn about the local customs of the planets they visited. Few species had lifespans as lengthy as his race, and so the very few Cybertronian commemorative dates tended to be too far apart to be enjoyed by others. Given the casualty rate during some periods of the war, even other Cybertronians could not be sure they would be around to see the next celebration. It was easier to take on the local customs and enjoy.

And this particular custom, he had loved from the moment he learned of it.

He was not a hundred percent sure about whether Jesus had actually been the son of the human God but a birthday celebration was reason enough, and the ideas of giving gifts and being together and doing charitable things - the spirit of Christmas, as it was known - that suited him just fine.

Prowl had always avoided the main party, making a brief appearance so that Optimus did not order him to attend (as had happened the second year) then disappearing off on his own. It was the most restful day of the year, he confided once. By evening there was drunken stupidity to counter and pranksters to chide and messes to clean up, but during the day it was peaceful.

And then later, in the early hours of the morning when the troublemakers were in the brig and most others were charging, the two of them would have their own private celebration of love and joy. For a few years it had been perfect.

But things had gone badly. The war had gone on, and mechs had died.

Prowl had died.

That thought still made Jazz's spark ache sharply, and he saw his companion glance towards him anxiously and he waved it off with a reassuring smile.

This was Jazz's first Christmas without Prowl, but with Prowl.

The sharp-edged armour and silver colouration and heavy build were becoming gradually more familiar, though he thought he might never quite lose the expectation of turning to see sweeping black and white sensor panels and the crimson of a tapered chevron. They were both still coming to terms with this other who was almost but not quite their lost beloved.

"There." Prowl announced finally. "Now you may approach."

Walking forward, he found that Prowl had removed the snow from one side of a large boulder and had carved some glyphs into it.

Jazz grimaced. He still struggled to assimilate the strange writing of his counterpart's culture. Their coding, language and programming were so very different to his own that even after months of analysis he was unable to write a comprehensive conversion program. Which meant he had to learn to read and speak that language in the same way as organics did: through study and practice.

"What's it say?"

"Try." Prowl prompted him. "I used the simplest forms, you know all these words."

Sighing, Jazz turned to the carving and this time looked at it properly. To his surprise, unlike their normal complex layout, these glyphs were arranged in short lines, ready to be read without first interpreting the order. Encouraged, he started from the opening symbol at the top.

"Time... no, a time. A time for... peace you bring me peace... wait, it's a poem?"

"Your Christmas gift. Can you read the rest?"

He worked it out silently, stringing the words together until he had it all and was sure it was right.  
_  
A time for peace, you bring me peace I feared was gone  
A time for joy, you restore the joy I thought was lost  
A time for love, you show me I can still love  
A time for hope.  
The pain is not gone, but there is hope now you are here._

"Prowl, it's beautiful." he whispered, tracing careful fingers over the carefully created shapes.

"When you said this human celebration was special to you I decided to find out about it. Mikaela told me it was about hope. And you, Jazz, are my hope."

Jazz offlined his optics for a moment.

He had come here on the strength of the hope that this strange world could give him some tiny measure of peace. He had claimed he was here to start again, but in truth he had spent all his time comparing and contrasting this reality with the one he had lost, rather than appreciating what he had been given.

His Prowl, as much as Jazz had adored him, would never have written him a poem.

Could he do this? Could he really fall in love again? If he was being honest, wasn't that what he was here for?

Onlining his optics again he turned and smiled at Prowl who was watching anxiously.

"I don't deserve the faith you got in me." he admitted. "But I'll work on it, cause you're the only hope I got left."

"That's all I ask." Prowl assured him. "Now, do you want to go back to celebrate with the others? I think Bumblebee has organised something."

"Nah," Jazz interrupted him, sliding an arm around Prowl's waist and hugging him close, still staring at the gift, "I got all the celebration I need, right here."


	14. Don't know what you've got

Title: Don't know what you've got (til it's going)  
Characters: Prowl/Jazz  
Verse: G1-AU, post-war  
Rating: T  
Prompts: Jazz realising he's in love and Prowl being confused

A/N: happy birthday kyme ^_^

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, I just play with them a bit :)

* * *

"Jazz?"

"Hmm?"

"You're staring. Why?"

"You're beautiful."

Prowl looked up, surprised, then shook his head in amusement and continued with his task of gently washing down his sleepy sparkling's frame.

"We agreed that we should be reciprocally affectionate in public because it would avoid others being concerned at our estrangement at such an important time, but there's no requirement to continue it now everyone has left. I'm not even sure why you haven't gone home yet; you were very clear that you had no interest in raising a sparkling."

Jazz shuffled his pedes uncomfortably.

"I know. I know what I said..."

He broke off as Shadowstep began to demand his next meal rather insistently, and Prowl wrapped the little frame in a linkmesh blanket and carried him through to the apartment's only berthroom to settle him for the night.

Jazz tidied the small, private washrack before following, stopping in that doorway and watching, once again feeling an unfamiliar longing ache in his spark watching his friend fuss over the newling.

He and Prowl had worked together for centuries, supporting Optimus through the war and holding everything together through crisis after crisis. They had been the best in their respective fields, and respected each other for that even when they argued over the details. On Earth, with so much of the _Ark_ uninhabitable, neither had flinched at the suggestion that they share a room. In fact they had been compelled to share a berth, since there were too few functional ones to go around.

In all that time, they had rarely been on that berth at the same time, politely arranging between themselves which of them would have it when, but in the uncommon circumstances that it had been unavoidable they had been mature about it. They were not lovers, just colleagues and friends and now roommates.

Others had thought differently, and that was okay. It helped morale for others to see a 'stable' pair getting on with what was required. He and Prowl had talked about it a few times, had a quiet laugh over how fixated everyone was on matchmaking. It was easier to let everyone believe what they chose than to be 'helped along' with another partner.

So when the conflict had finally ended and the worst of the resettlement was over and Prowl decided he wanted to raise a sparkling, it had seemed simplest to apply together. There was no intimacy required in the deal: the rediscovery of the blueprints for a key to Vector Sigma meant that it was purely an administrative act. Had everyone not already believed they were a couple, Prowl could just as easily have applied on his own. Bluestreak had taken on the formal role of Shadowstep's second mentor with the explanation that they wanted to revive Praxian culture, and a sparkling really only required one mentor anyway.

They had done it together because it was what was expected and because it was easier to continue to pretend and keep everyone else happy until after the activation. If they had done it before, no doubt their friends would have tried to get them back together before allowing them to go ahead with their plans. Doing so after would upset their friends, but at least Prowl would already have the sparkling he wanted and Jazz had no qualms about disappearing for awhile to avoid the worst of the fallout.

So he had attended the various sessions where Prowl organised the frame and programming he wanted, and then they both attended the ceremony at Vector Sigma. Jazz had watched those small blue optics light up, the stubs that would become sensor panels begin to twitch, and heard the first few clicks come from the newling's mouth, and had remained mostly impassive. Sparklings were cute, definitely, and he had no issues with chatting or playing with the one, perfectly ready to be charmed. What he was not ready for was the tenderness with which Prowl handled his new sparkling, and the feelings that that scene had engendered.

It was silly, Jazz had told himself. He knew Prowl wasn't the drone the gossipmongers would have everyone believe him to be. He even knew that Shadowstep wasn't Prowl's first, he had raised two sparklings before the war: one by himself, the other with the aid of his sparkmate. He had left them behind when he went to help Sentinel Prime maintain order, but had stayed in contact with them.

All three had died at Praxus.

No-one else knew that. It had been before Jazz had joined the Autobots and as far as he could make out no-one had thought to worry about their SIC's feelings. Prowl had found Bluestreak and had focused his energy and attention on him.

He knew Prowl was just as emotional as anyone else, and that it was just hidden away so that he could focus on the job he had to do. So why would it surprise him that Prowl was affectionate now? And why was he feeling jealous over it? The answer was not one he had expected.

Prowl finally finished feeding Shadowstep and plugged him into the recharging unit then walked out of the room, leaving Jazz to close the door.

"You're in an odd mood tonight." Prowl observed as he sat on the couch and began tidying away the gifts that friends had brought around in celebration.

"Yeah, I am." Jazz admitted, perching on the arm of the couch. "Prowler, I think I made a mistake."

"Did someone die?"

"Not that kinda mistake."

"Then it's more than likely fixable."

Jazz grimaced and began to explain but Prowl cut him off.

"I'm confused, Jazz. We have both been clear for a very long time that we were only friends, and you have been more than clear that you had no interest in ever mentoring a sparkling, yet now you have changed your mind? So very quickly, and you believe you are sure?"

"I dunno." Jazz replied honestly, moving to sit heavily beside Prowl on the couch.

"Why the change?"

Jazz had no immediate answer to that, but Prowl was clearly prepared to wait and he forced himself to think it through before speaking again.

"I think I just figured out how important you are t'me. When the war was on, I knew I'd see ya every orn. When it was over an' we moved back here t'Iacon an' got our own spaces it felt kinda off but I figured it was just the transition back to civilian life. But now you've got Shadowstep an' you're givin' up your job an' I ain't got a clue when I'll see ya, an' I jus' don't want ya t'go."

Prowl had been folding a blanket and now settled it on his lap, smoothing it absently.

"We're very different, Jazz. We have always known that. And you know I have no interest in short term relationships..."

"Short term?" Jazz laughed. "Prowler, we've been together for centuries!"

"But not as a couple."

Jazz's humour fled. It was not that they had never shared; more that it had always been casual, a stress release, friend helping friend.

"We could start slow, see how it goes." he mused. "I don't mind courtin' ya for a bit, figure things out as we go."

"Won't that seem a little odd?" Prowl asked, shifting the blanket to the table and turning to face him. "As you say, we've been together a long time."

"Who gives a frag what anyone else thinks?" Jazz dismissed the concern. "What matters is us."

"And is there an 'us', beyond friendship?"

"I'm thinkin' there probably should be. Prowl I'm sorry, my timin's lousy, you've had a busy orn an' y'don't need this slag right now but I just... I can't help what I'm feelin'."

"And what exactly are you feeling?"

Jazz hesitated, suddenly afraid to mess this up, then pushed past that. This was Prowl. They knew each other far too well to overreact to each other's foibles.

"I love ya. An' I wanna make it formal. Permanent. I wanna come online in the mornin' wit'ya arms around me, an' argue wit'ya over the colours for our sparklin's berthroom, an' go through the orn knowin' you're gonna be there when I get home. That _this_ is home, an' this is wherever you are."

"That's very romantic." Prowl commented dryly, a sparkle in his optics suggesting he was amused. "So this is not just a belated attempt at a night's passion before it's too late?"

Jazz shook his head firmly.

"Passion's easy, but it's empty. I want more. I want you."

Prowl stared at him for a long moment, then leaned forward until their foreheads were pressed together and kissed him lightly.

"Well it certainly took you long enough. I thought you'd never ask."

"What? Wait..."

Prowl kissed him again and raised one hand to trace the shadow of the now-removed Autobot logo on Jazz's chest.

"I realised I loved you vorns ago, but you weren't ready. The answer's yes, Jazz. Yes, I want to build a life with you. Yes, I love you. And as for taking things slowly, I'm sorry our first time won't be on a berth but I don't want to wake Shadowstep now he's settled and I'm not at all certain I can wait now I have you in my arms at last."

"We can make it work." Jazz grinned, his shock passing.

"Yes, I believe we can."


	15. SoaL Meister

Story of a Lifetime extra - Meister

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers

A/N: by popular request (demand?) I bring you what Meister was up to after he left at the end of 12.1

Warnings: torture, hacking, death; that is to say: Meister at work. And if you've read 12.5 then you know what's coming. (and if you haven't read Story of a Lifetime then sorry but I'm not going to summarise!)

* * *

The _Escaphalion_ slipped off the edge of the sensor screen and Meister felt a faint twinge. Perhaps this was not such a good idea. Perhaps he should have stayed with Prowl.

He shook that off and re-focused. Prowl knew what his job was, and if there was any danger it would be aimed at him, not Prowl. Openly refusing the mission might only put his lover at risk.

He went through his personal arsenal again, the movements well rehearsed and familiar, letting his mind drift over what had happened even as he kept alert for warning signs. This was not the first time he had taken orders from someone other than Curveball. Most often it was Mirage, but occasionally it was another agent. The agent had to have the right keyword when he was out in the field, otherwise it was assumed they had been turned. He had killed a dozen such agents, not knowing whether or not they were genuine. Curveball had never said anything about it, and in all honesty there was little to be said: once an agent was gone there was nothing to be done about it.

The same applied to him, and he knew it. There was some degree of comfort in that fact, in the idea that Curveball treated them all with the same level of suspicion and distance. Prowl would not approve, but then Prowl would have a great deal of difficulty with much of what Meister took for granted.

"An' Prowl's got nothin' to do with it." he growled at himself. "Focus."

The point was, if Silencer had given him these orders out in the field along with the corrct code he would have accepted them without question; without the code and the assassin would no longer be a concern. Silencer was good at his job; Meister was better.

But the orders had been given on ship. That removed the need for a code, but surely Silencer had anticipated him checking in with Curveball? He should have. So the question was this: was it a simple trap, or was this a ruse to conceal something else?

He considered the orders again. Go to a particular place, use a particular disguise, infiltrate a particular group, and retrieve a particular dataset. No indication of the intelligence behind the mission, but that was standard. What was not standard was the requirement for a particular disguise. Curveball always left that up to him, and frequently could not recognise him until Meister allowed him to. There was no reason for Silencer to have known that, but it was still clumsy, another red flag.

The disguise specified was that of a heavily armoured minibot. Unusual. Unique enough to stand out, which was why it was not a form he had taken before. The shuttle contained a corpse for him to transscan, and he had done so idly but not yet enacted the change. He looked at the powdering frame thoughtfully, then at the navigation display. He had nearly a full orn before he would arrive at his destination. Assuming he would be ambushed en route, he still probably had at least a joor uninterrupted. Plenty of time to prepare.

* * *

The ambush was dismayingly predictable. Any normal bot travelling for a full orn would choose to rest for part of the time prior to the mission, and most would do that in the middle third of the trip. The shuttle that intercepted his was running silent, just the occasional thruster puff to alter trajectory so that it was moving parallel to him, then two silent forms left through a hatch and boarded his shuttle.

Amateurs, he mused coolly as he watched them manually open a hatch in the cargo area and slip inside. They hurried straight past the two drones in the hold and paused at the helpfully open door between that section and the cockpit.

At least they were sensible enough to be cautious, but so far this was a total insult to his skill level.

It clearly surprised them to find the pilot alert and working on one of the terminals and there was a brief, panicked exchange before one of them moved ahead. The second backed off, looking more cautiously around the hold, and jumped in alarm when the door between hold and cockpit closed. Movement to one side made him spin about and see one of the drones approaching with a datapad which it offered to him. Hesitantly he lowered his rifle and reached for it. As he touched it, though, the drone followed its orders and activated the localised electro-magnetic pulse charge it was concealing under the datapad and both of them went instantly offline.

Back in the cockpit, the one who had gone ahead froze in place when the door closed, not sure what to make of that, but when he saw that the pilot had not noticed he crept forward again. Glancing to his left he saw the powdered form of the corpse and nodded to himself, then pressed the barrel of his rifle up against the pilot's helm.

"Don't move." he hissed.

The pilot did not seem to notice, continuing to work on something on the screen in front of him.

"I said, don't move!"

Still being ignored, he gave the mech a shove and then skittered backwards as the drone shifted out from under the hologram generator on the ceiling and was revealed in its true form. Spinning about he aimed his rifle at the corpse, but it had not moved. On the floor, the drone continued to tap out a looped sequence into the air. The mech opened a comm line.

~Spotcheck to Arclight - target is not here, what do we do?~

Meister smiled to himself and activated the tanglefield he had laid out on the floor, putting the mech and drone offline. Then he unsorcelled himself from his current disguise as an additional navigation bank - Primus these mechs were slow not to have noticed the redundant equipment - and unjammed the comm channels, mimicking the voice he had just heard and the frequency used.

~Spotcheck to Arclight, target acquired.~

~Really?~ the response was incredulous. ~Fantastic. Get Quartz to bring him across, then, and you follow in the shuttle.~

~Will do.~ Meister replied easily, signing off.

Honestly, this lot were making things far too easy for him.

* * *

Every mech knew that the nanites that formed the colours on a mech's armour would die when the spark faded, leaving a powder on top of the clean silver metal of the frame. What few considered was that unless some further action was taken, it took a long time for the frame itself to degrade. And that in the first vorn or so it was actually possible to clean off the nanites, use some plain old construction paint and add a few drone parts, and a corpse could be made to appear just like a mech in stasis.

Granted, it was not particularly _useful_ knowledge for most, but there were times when it had come in handy for him before. As it did now.

Having restrained his two captives in the hold of the shuttle, Meister transscanned the one apparently called Quartz and hefted the corpse over his shoulder. The one the Decepticon had seen in the cockpit had only been a hologram, this one had been shoved behind some crates for this eventuality.

Pushing off from the hatch, he drifted in empty space from one shuttle to the other and inside. He had not been sure from a distance, but now he smiled to himself as he arrived: the shuttle was no more sentient than his own. That made everything a lot easier. Putting the corpse down, he looked up to see a wary-looking flier watching from the door.

"You're sure he's offline?"

The voice was the same as on the comm.

"He's out. And the bindings'll keep him still."

The flier approached cautiously, rifle still held tightly and aimed at the offline prisoner, nudging the form with the barrel.

"He doesn't look like much. You're sure this is him?"

"This is who was on board. And he was supposed to be able to change his appearance, right?"

"Okay. Well the charges are planted, so lets get going."

Arclight headed towards the door and Meister made a choice. He could stay on board here and try to dig out information or follow Arclight back and interrogate his three prisoners. No real problem making that decision.

"Sure. I'm right behind you."

* * *

Meister onlined and assessed his surroundings carefully before showing any sign of wakefulness. Sensing everything was still in place, he onlined his optics and looked at the monitor. His three captives were all still well restrained, though none of them were offline any longer. Spotcheck had managed to bend his ankles out of shape in a good attempt to free himself, but it had not worked and he was now likely in a lot of pain. The best candidate to begin with, then.

Rising from his seat, Meister stretched. Changing form so often in such a short span was not clever, his body was aching and his plating kept wanting to rearrange itself. He ignored the desire, all too familiar with it, and took a moment settle into the form he had selected for this next phase. It was one he had first scanned a long time ago and had not often used. Not that it mattered terribly much because these three were not going to make it back to tell anyone what they had seen but it should confuse them nicely.

His optics swept across the controls, taking in various pieces of data. They were still in orbit around the small moon where he had headed randomly after the other shuttle had exploded. That action had disappointed him. Why go to all this trouble just to kill him? Surely there should have been some attempt to hack him first? Granted, so far no-one had ever succeeded, but that was not the point, it was the principle of the thing. Still, he had to admit it might have been effective. Well, if they had actually managed to capture him, which even without the forewarning was highly unlikely. This way just meant he was handling things more stylishly.

Running his hands over his plating to align it where it did not sit perfectly flat, he smirked to himself. This disguise always caused a stir. No doubt it would this time too.

Stalking through to the hold, the smirk well concealed, he swept straight past Arclight and Quartz over to Spotcheck. The mech was bound not just with energon restraints but also high-tensile polymer ropes that were strategically placed to cut uncomfortably into the gaps in his outer armour. The more he struggled, the deeper those ropes would dig, and right now he seemed quite desperate.

"Need some help?" Meister asked.

Spotcheck began to snarl, then gaped at him.

"Who... who are you?"

"Don't be a fool." Quartz growled. "It's Meister, it's gotta be."

"But there're no femmes on board for him to scan! Are there?"

"Which means Meister's really a femme?" Arclight gasped.

Meister looked at each of them in turn, and saw genuine fear on Quartz's faceplates. He had figured out what it would mean if they were getting to see Meister's true form. Which, actually, they weren't but there was no reason to correct them.

Leaning over daintily, he grabbed a handful of the ropes just over a particular knot, and began to drag Spotcheck behind some crates.

"Excuse us, mechs, but Spotcheck and I need a little privacy."

Being dragged would be painful, the ropes tightening even further, and Meister finished by flinging him into a nearby bulkhead. It left a satisfying dent but did no real damage, and Meister crouched over him, stroking the dent soothingly.

"Oops. Sorry."

Spotcheck stared upwards, his engine giving an uncertain rev, and Meister smiled, leaning closer.

"You wanna kiss me, sweetspark? Think I'd let you? Well lets see."

The mech was trembling under him, not quite sure what was going on, but started to speak hesitantly. The instant his mouth was open, Meister slipped a small capsule inside. Spotcheck tried to spit it out but it was too late, the capsule activating and exploding, filling his mouth with a thick foam that set instantly. A quick and effective gag, though not one that was easily removed again.

Meister snorted at the mech's confusion.

"Don't flatter yourself, I can do so much better than you, and I do. Oh. Wondering how I'm going to get answers out of you if you can't speak? I have my ways."

Sliding his hands around Spotcheck's helm he found a dataport. It was closed tight, and Spotcheck began to struggle as he realised what Meister intended, but between his bindings and Meister's bulk weighing him down there was little he could do. Clawing away the surrounding panels, careless of the damage he was doing, Meister opened the port and tickled the connectors teasingly.

"Tell you what. If it hurts, just say so and I'll stop."

Flicking a data cable out of his wrist, he set to work.

* * *

The information he gathered from Spotcheck was mostly useless. By the time he was finished the mech's systems were an unrecoverable mess and he had actually struggled so much that the ropes had actually severed his right arm from his torso. Not that it had helped him. For an expert like Meister, manipulating physical sensation and avoiding it coming through the connection was second nature. Besides, the lost energon just made him weaker while the spatter gave Meister an even more frightening appearance. Something he intended to take full advantage of.

Disconnecting he pressed a chaste kiss to the shuddering mech's helm, promising to come back for another round soon, and moved back into the main space. Arclight and Quartz had been calling out for awhile now, demanding to know what was going on, reminding Spotcheck to stay strong. Meister looked at them coyly, idly rubbing a dried smear of energon off his headlamp.

"Well _that_ was fun. So who's next?"

Amateur interrogators always underestimated the power of suggestion. Seeing someone get hurt could certainly make some others talk, but it could also help them steel themselves against what might be coming for them. Having it happen outside of their line of sight, particularly with long silences, gave them time to imagine what was going on instead.

Then again, a little bit of terrified screaming worked just as well, when judiciously used.

Dragging Arclight off around to where Spotcheck was lying, he smiled.

"Keep him company while I work, will you? Thanks. Don't worry, I'll be right back to take care of you too."

* * *

"Well that was a complete waste of my time." Meister growled disgustedly, scowling down at the three forms slowly greying at his pedes.

None of them had had any useful data. They were working on Starscream's orders, given to them through an intermediary they did not know and who never gave a name. Their orders were simply to try to ambush the Autobot spy Meister who would be disguised as the minibot whose shuttle he had stolen. The disguise would be a perfect match, indistinguishable from the original, so they must be careful. If they could not capture him they should retreat. If they were spotted first they should get him aboard their ship then escape and blow him up with it. If in the very unlikely scenario they actually caught him they should blow him up.

That was it. They had no rendezvous point after the mission if they survived, no explanation as to why they had been ordered to do it. The only thing of even minor use was that one of them had overheard their intermediary mention the name Ibix.

Ultra Ibix was currently visiting the _Escaphalion_. But Quartz had not been sure if he was an agent or a target, so that was worthless.

Ditching the bodies so that they would be caught in the gravitational pull of the moon - nothing worse than leaving evidence floating around where someone might stumble across it - he considered his options.

He could head home with no more information than he currently had, aware that the instigator of the ambush was still out there and would not be so careless next time. Or he could attempt to dig deeper. Risky, but in the end it was the only viable option. If he returned to the _Escaphalion_ now, the only option would be to kill off 'Jazz' and have his new persona stay away from Prowl so that whoever was after him would not know who he was. That was entirely unpalatable.

So. He would rest for a few joors; he would likely need the charge for later. Then he would take on Quartz's appearance again and head back to the base they had left from and work from there.

* * *

Meister flinched and cringed, grovelling.

"I don't _know_ what happened!" he whined for the fifth time. "We captured him, Spotcheck carried him back to the other shuttle, and then it blew up. Maybe Arclight got the timers wrong or something, I don't know."

"_Did Meister escape!_" his interrogator roared.

"I don't know. I don't think so. I didn't see him. Please, I don't know. I don't know what happened. He should have died, but I don't know..."

This was getting monotonous. They had already patched in and clumsily dredged his memory banks for the events. They were not particularly skilled and never noticed that his memory was partitioned. What they saw was exactly what he wanted them to see, and corroborated his story.

Still, at least they didn't just take his word for it. If they had, he might have been suspicious that they knew it was him. After all, they already knew Meister could sorcel so having a single one of their agents come back with a story like this should have generated some concern. What they did not seem to willing to believe, though, was that the great Autobot agent might not care about his pride. No role was too demeaning when it meant getting something done.

Burying his boredom deep he immersed himself in the task at hand. Quartz's defiance would have been entirely worn away by this point so he had to beg and plead and cry until they gave in and accepted him back.

Which, judging by progress so far, should not take much longer.

Fools.

* * *

Once they were satisfied he was who he said he was, they sent him off to his quarters. That might also have been a test, but he had taken that detail while interrogating the real Quartz so whether or not he was being followed he knew he was covered. Which was not to say that he knew everything, he mused as he arrived at the room and found five berths crammed into the space with no indication as to who used which one.

Picking one randomly he lay down and waited. The owner would come back and turf him off, and he would claim exhaustion, and it would be sorted. In the meantime he opened himself to the local hub and let the chatter wash over him, trusting his systems to catch anything useful.

He found his name and duty assignments for the next decaorn. A little searching found a schematic of the base so he could navigate. Amusingly, he had chosen the right berth in the first place, the other four being occupied when he disconnected from the charger and got up grumbling to head off to his post as a guard.

Feigning boredom that he had actually felt the previous orn, he slumped against the wall and glowered morosely out at the planet's tedious landscape. His fellow guard was taciturn so he did not have to worry about paying attention in that direction. Which left him free to do some proper searching for data.

It took most of his shift to program in the changes to the firewalls that would give him access on demand without alerting anyone. A rush job, but he had no intention of being in this role long-term so it would not matter.

* * *

An orn later, he roused from his doze instantly on hearing a particular word. Replaying the report that had just come through, he felt a chill. The _Escaphalion_ had been successfully attacked by the Seekers, the entire crew killed, Prime taken prisoner. Anyone not on duty was allowed two rations of high grade in celebration.

Woodenly he sat up and followed the crowds through to nearest recreation area, demanding his own portion and celebrating loudly. Externally he played along with everyone else, internally he was working hard.

Announcements like this were always partially propaganda, that was the nature of war, but how much was true this time? Prowl was not dead, he knew that much at least, but had anyone else survived? And what did surviving mean, had he been taken prisoner and they just hadn't figured out his value yet? Unlikely. Between his Praxian frame and distinctive colouring, even the most dense of Decepticons would at least check with a superior before making that mistake; Prowl had done considerable damage to the Decepticon cause and the senior Cons would want him alive.

But if they had him alive they would have announced that too. So. He must have escaped.

Meister fought his conflicting needs. He needed to finish this mission, to make absolutely sure no-one here knew the truth of his identity and to quietly take out the ones who had been involved even if they actually knew nothing. That had to be done with patience - he was not a crude assassin to leap in and just do the job, he wanted to survive this. So he must not be suspected, and it must appear to be unconnected with anything else.

He _needed_ to go to Prowl, but he rationalised with himself. He did not even know where Prowl was right now. And he might be able to do more for his partner if he stayed where he was. If Prowl _did_ end up getting captured then this was the nearest base and he would almost certainly be brought here. Prowl would approve of him taking the logical approach. The best option was to stay here.

It did not make the worry recede.

* * *

Three whole orns passed with no information other than the fact that Megatron had beaten Starscream to within a micron of his life. The Air Commander had instigated the attack on the _Escaphalion_ without permission and without support, and no matter how successful it had been Megatron would not stand for insubordination.

He did leave Starscream alive, which for him was an act of mercy, and mechs muttered amongst themselves that he must have gone soft over the flashy flier. Perhaps he had. Or perhaps he just needed Starscream to keep the Seekers under control; it was clear they followed no authority but him.

Clever slagger had probably programmed them that way.

In the meantime, Meister continued patiently with his plans. Piecing together datalog fragments and other records he was able to establish who was responsible for giving Quartz, Spotcheck and Arclight their orders, and also that _his_ orders had come from Silencer directly. That fool always used the same disguise. He only had one, and never bothered to so much as change his accent or colouration, just his name. It was a miracle no-one had ever figured it out, although in truth most of the mechs who _saw_ Silencer died within breems of that contact so even if they did it would do them no good. That was what he did.

In any case, Meister began a careful regime against this mech. For the last two orns he had been getting flickers of images and hearing static and distant conversations where no-one else saw or heard anything, and it was making him nervous. If it had happened to an Autobot the mech's friends would have hauled him off to the medics, but the Decepticons were intolerant of glitches. It was seen as weakness. Even the medics could not be trusted not to report it.

Today, Meister increased the intensity. The mech was now hearing whispers that he could not quite make out but which were loud enough to distract him from any other conversation. They came and went. Twice he saw mechs he knew and tried to catch their attention but they ignored him, and when he followed them around a corner or into a room they had vanished completely.

Leaning against a wall casually, watching the mech from a distance, Meister mused that it was far too easy to do this when the comms specialists at this base were so dense. He would never dare to do it if Soundwave were around. Quite amazing what could be done with a little frequency manipulation, particularly if one had already slipped a receiving module into the target's armour, say during a quick wash in the racks.

A figure came out of a room further down the corridor and Meister saw his target flinch. This mech was one he had just followed into a different room and who had disappeared. Timing was everything, Meister thought smugly as the mech clipped the confused target around the helm for not paying attention.

"Blitzwing, stop standing around dumbly and get to your duty station!"

"What? But I'm off duty."

"Not anymore you're not. Go!"

The triplechanger fled without further protest.

"Glitch." the other mech spat, watching him go, then spotted Meister.

"And what are _you_ doing?"

"Nothing." he replied with just the right level of suppressed insolence, long practice.

"Well go do it somewhere else. This corridor's restricted."

"Since when?"

"Since we captured the Autobot Curveball, that's since when. Now go!"

* * *

Time was up. He would have to give up on Blitzwing altogether. He did not think the mech knew anything anyway, and while tormenting him had been fun it paled into nothing in comparison to this new priority.

How in the name of Primus had they captured him? Curveball was always so careful to stay well protected, he _knew_ the Cons wanted him even more than they wanted Prime. Oh sure the command element wanted Prime and Prowl and Tripwire, but the common Decepticon soldier wanted revenge on the commander who had killed their colleagues and turned against them. The traitor. Everyone here would want their chance to have a go at him, and even orders from above would not necessarily hold them back. Not that they would kill him. No, they knew better than that, they knew how valuable he was. Besides, they would want him to suffer.

This was crazy, Meister told himself even as he enacted his hastily conceived plan and wove through the crowds looking for a particular mech. It was as much a suicide mission as any he had undertaken. Even killing Curveball would not ensure that his memory banks would be unretrievable, he would have to do more than that, and that would take time. Time during which anything could happen. If he was interrupted, if someone was present who knew the difference between a hack and what he intended, if anyone found the body he was going to have to stash away so he could take his place... Not good.

But there was no choice. Curveball knew too much, and that information could _not_ be allowed to pass to the Decepticons, no matter the cost.

The mech he was looking for finally appeared in the corridor ahead of him. No time for subtlety, he strode straight up to him and told him he had been sent to bring him to one of the meeting rooms. The interrogator argued, pointing out that he was due in the brig. Meister insisted, invoking the local commander's name, and the interrogator grudgingly followed. Alone in the room, Meister wasted no time. This mech was not expecting an attack but happened to be turning away and nearly escaped before Meister could kill him. Transscanning him, he pushed himself through the transition at a quicker pace than he normally did, feeling his whole body ache from the pressure. This mech was a little larger than him, and that was always harder to do, but he just thinned out his armour. It would make little difference anyway. If it came to a direct attack, he would not survive.

Since there was no time to conceal the body, he did not try. He entered a new sequence into the lock which would completely seal the room if anyone attempted any code but the right one, leaving them no choice but to cut into the room, which would take time. Striding out, he hurried down the corridor, glowering and yelling at anyone in his path. He must get there first. Nothing else would do.

* * *

What he found upon arrival was not good, but not as bad as he had feared it might be.

The interrogator whose place Meister had taken was known for his irritability, so almost everyone was outside rather than in the room itself. On the other hand, they were avidly watching through the camera feed. The door clanged closed behind him, locking automatically, leaving him alone in a room filled with unpleasant instruments and a mech bound to a berth. Not just any berth, though. He recognised that configuration. Even if he did not have an audience, moving Curveball from the surface or even unlocking one of the restraints would set off alarms.

Not that it had been likely, but this confirmed it: rescue was not an option.

Pulling a datacord out of his wrist, he ignored the identity of the mech before him and scanned him carefully. None of the dataports had been forced open yet. Thanking Primus for that, he glared coldly down at the captive but said nothing. Curveball glared back defiantly, and Meister felt a wash of sorrow before he suppressed it. If he were truly wanting to do this, Curveball's defiance would not stop him. And in truth, he was going to have to be somewhat rough, to keep the audience from becoming suspicious.

"This," he warned, "is going to hurt."

"Give it your best shot." Curveball spat back.

Meister reached out for a laser scalpel and simply cut the cover off a dataport, then plugged in and sent a pulse code. Curveball stiffened in shock, optics widening in brief recognition.

~Meister?~

~Take down your firewalls. Give me access.~

There was a pause, then everything opened up. Without so much as an apology, Meister attacked.

* * *

Meister's focus returned to his surroundings once again. Curveball was not a traitor, he had not had anything to do with this attack, his motives had been good. He had detained Silencer, not ready to destroy him immediately in case he was more valuable alive, but when the attack had started he quickly despatched the traitor rather than let him escape.

It was Silencer who had known Safestore's activation codes, or rather, who had deciphered them. The Decepticons had long had some data from Curveball's time in their forces, copied during routine checks. They had not known who the agents were, nor how to interpret the data. Turning Silencer to their cause had been the first step. Just like Meister, he knew all of the old deep cover agents so that he could keep an optic on them if there was any ever risk of them turning. And with his help they had isolated the data they needed.

Starscream had taken this action on his own, to attack the _Escaphalion_. He had not told Megatron of his knowledge of the ops codes, wanting to appear superior. If they had been working together, things would have been so much worse...

~Don't try to speak.~ he cautioned as he felt Curveball trying to come online. ~The virus I implanted won't let you, anyway. I'm not certain yet I can get myself out of here in one piece but you're completely outta luck, boss. They're not taking any chances: I try to move you off this table, or even just cut the restraints, and every mech on this base'll come tearing in here and every Decepticon ship in the sector'll head over here. You know how much they want you. And they're going to keep you alive here for as long as they possibly can. Bring in Shockwave and Soundwave for some proper dredging. I can't let that happen, boss, you know that. These are your rules.

~I've woken you up and I'm keeping you awake because it'll make the virus work faster. And maybe just to let you know that I'm going to deal with this. I _will_ track down every single one of the slaggers who turned on us. The Autobots still might not win but I'm going to give them the best possible shot at it. I have to. Prowl won't leave them, and I won't leave him.~

Curveball twitched and Meister began preparing to pull out entirely. He needed to keep Curveball online just for this, then put him out again. That way it would take them a little longer to figure out what he had done and come looking for him.

~Not much longer now. You won't know who I am in a few more clicks. Nasty little virus, this one, but not so painful as the alternatives. Slower, yeah, but it'll do a good job. A few more clicks and no-one'll ever be able to piece your memories back together again.~

The countdown on his HUD ran out and he sent one more piece of code then disconnected and coiled the line back into his wrist. This was where it became tricky; he had to bluff his way out of here quickly, and get back to Curveball's shuttle, the one with the navigation computer which had the path back to Prowl's location.

Curveball had been there, and now Meister would follow. Curveball had been Meister's only point of stability for centuries, but Prowl was his world now. Prowl would keep him whole.

He would grieve the loss of his boss - his friend - when there was time. Right now, he had to escape.

* * *

A/N #2: written very quickly and with minimal editing, so if you spot any mistakes, let me know :)


	16. Checkmate

Title: Checkmate  
Characters: Prowl, Chip  
Universe: G1  
Rating: T

A/N: written as the auction item for the help_nz Christchurch Earthquake appeal, for winning bidder femme4jack

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers or Star Trek

* * *

Chip Chase wandered through the echoing corridors of the _Ark_, the metal surfaces making it almost effortless for him to guide his wheelchair. The first time he had come here he had feared the slick metal might mean his wheels would spin but in fact it gave good traction without holding him back. He had been surprised by that until he thought about it: after all, the Autobots had wheels in their altmodes and they would not want to be skidding everywhere. It was probably intentional.

In any case, this was the first time he had ever been here and able to wander freely on his own. Usually he was completely surrounded by mechs chattering away and suggesting activities and offering to carry him. He had bristled slightly at that last the first few times, disappointed to find he was getting 'special' treatment because he was disabled, but then he realised they treated Spike, Carly and Sparkplug exactly the same way. Then he had laughed at himself. All of them were disabled, as far as the mechs were concerned: they were small and frail and could not communicate on the radio waves.

Today had started out the same as any other, settling into the chaos that was the _Ark_, when an alarm rang out and everything suddenly stopped. The Decepticons had attacked a power station and the Autobots had to rush out to stop them. Spike and Carly had gone with them, excited by the opportunity as always, but Chip was not overly keen on putting himself into that kind of situation deliberately.

After a quick discussion he had been left with Perceptor, and they had talked for awhile but it was obvious the scientist wanted to get back to his work, so Chip encouraged him to do so. Unfortunately there was very little he could do to help as his partner began an indepth analysis of a rock Beachcomber had brought him, making notes in his native language, so Chip eventually slipped away and left him to it.

Less than a minute after he left Perceptor's lab Red Alert had appeared, demanding to know where he was going and snapping that he should go to the rec room if he was bored but should stay out of the halls in case someone came rushing through them with an emergency. Knowing Red well enough not to be upset by the lecture, Chip good-naturedly agreed to go to the rec room. It was as good a destination as any other with so many bots away.

Arriving there he found only two mechs present: Beachcomber was watching a documentary about Vesuvius and Pompeii; Swoop was sitting at one of the tables focused on something in front of him.

"What are you working on, Swoop?"

The Dinobot squawked a little, startled, then smiled down at him.

"Chip! Me Swoop think you go with others. Why you stay here?"

"Well I can't really fight the Decepticons, can I?"

Swoop gave him a sharp frown.

"You little Chip not supposed to fight big scary Decepticons."

"Well that's why I stayed here."

The frown disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared and he was scooped up and set down on the table.

"You Chip, very smart." Swoop approved.

Chip turned his wheelchair to see what Swoop had been focused on, and was disappointed to see it was just a very large reproduction of a set of newspaper cartoon strips. Those were always excruciatingly difficult to explain even to Bumblebee; he had no intention of making an attempt with the intellectually challenged Swoop.

He was seeking some kind of diversion when he spotted something familiar on a nearby table.

"Hey, is that a chess set? Whose is it?"

Swoop turned to look.

"Oh. Him Slag practicing. Want me Swoop to learn, but me Swoop say this not fun."

"_Slag_ plays chess? How did that happen?"

"Prowl being in one of his moods." Beachcomber volunteered from the couch. "Sometimes instead of punishing troublemakers with cleaning or extra patrols, he tries to bore them into line."

"Prowl? Really? I didn't know he played chess!"

"Of course." Swoop nodded readily. "He Prowl..."

"Loves logical things." Beachcomber finished quickly, cutting off the other mech and looking abruptly alert. "We all know that, right?"

Swoop was nodding happily so Chip just did the same, wondering what the Dinobot had been about to say. Still, it was probably much the same as what Beachcomber had said. Prowl _was_ logical, everyone knew that. And that actually made a lot of sense, suddenly. If anyone in the crew did like chess, he supposed it would be him.

He had never given Prime's administrator much thought. Prowl's job seemed to involve little more than writing reports that bored the other mechs to distraction, keeping track of the constantly shifting duty roster, and thinking up punishments for the twins when he caught them causing trouble. Given his tendency to glitch over anything illogical, he was a kind of hyper-focused Mr Spock, but maybe this was a mech he should have spent more time talking to. Most of the others liked physical things and Chip could not always participate. Chess, though, was his kind of fun.

So long as Prowl _really_ played, and it wasn't just some kind of weird form of torture for a Dinobot who wouldn't know if he was mucking about with the rules.

"Is Prowl here?" he asked.

"Nah, he's gone to fight. Hey Chip, if you've got nothing better to do, come watch this with me and explain it. Why do people live so close to active volcanoes?"

Well, if nothing else it would fill in time.

* * *

Prowl glared at the miscreant across his desk, standing in the shadow of a supporter, and watched them shift uncomfortably as he remained silent. One of them finally tried to speak and he cut them off.

"How many times have you been told not to use the back corridors while we have human visitors?"

"He didn't see anything." the taller one tried to argue.

"Only because he happened to be facing the other way at the time. But if he puts any thought into the fact that you materialised from a dead end corridor..."

"The humans don't put _any_ thought into such things." the smaller one snapped. "They're totally oblivious."

"Cute, but not bright." his companion added.

Prowl's doorwings twitched in irritation.

"I have provided thousands of documented examples of the opposite. They are naive but not stupid. Those in the concealed areas must either remain there during a visit or must use the back exit to loop around the mountain and return through the public entrance. We _must_ do this, or risk their curiosity."

"If I had taken that long to get to him he could have gone anywhere!"

"There is nowhere to go." Prowl countered. "Without the help of one of us he could not have accessed the back corridors. His options were limited. As ours must remain to appear to be. I thought you understood that this is a security issue."

Red Alert scowled.

"I just don't understand why we can't simply _tell_ them they can't come back here. Our offices would be off-limits either way, and so would everyone's quarters."

"Firstly, because it would give them a completely different impression of who we are from the way we are acting - our command structure, and intimate interactions. And do not try to tell me that they would not discover that last; there is barely a pairing in this crew who has not been caught breaking the physical contact rules out in the open, Primus forbid we ever have to explain more than that."

"You and Jazz are as guilty of that as any of the rest of us." Red Alert growled.

Prowl ignored that. The fact that Jazz continually tweaked his doorwings in the presence of the humans was something of a dilemma that he had not yet found a solution to. It was so hard to reprimand him properly when he was revving that much. Perhaps next time he could feign a freeze and get Ratchet to yell at him? Might work.

"Secondly," he continued firmly, "it would make them curious - telling them they could not come in would not stop them trying, it would only make them more determined to manage it somehow. I do not need the stress of knowing they might be back here where they could be accidentally harmed by mechs not expecting them to be around.

"And finally," he finished, "because to reveal this now would be to reveal that we have been lying to them. Any such revelation would have to be carefully managed or risk damaging our carefully built trust. Now go, I have other things to do."

* * *

Thinking about how he had totally ignored Prowl up until now made Chip take an active interest in all of the Autobots. At which point he realised that there were a lot of gaps in his understanding of them.

Optimus was the Prime, their leader, but his exact role was actually unclear. He led in battle, but was he really called Prime just for that? Things Bumblebee had said suggested not, that in fact it was something more spiritual, yet any time Chip asked about religion he only received blank looks.

Going back to Bumblebee, things got worse. Apart from keeping Spike safe, what exactly did Bumblebee do? He did patrols around the _Ark_ only irregularly, and had no qualms about stopping halfway to do something else. He claimed to be a scout, same as Hound, but while Hound spent his time exploring, Bumblebee just hung around.

Even Ratchet's role as a doctor was confusing. Wheeljack had created the Dinobots and claimed to have built other mech frames in the past but insisted he had no medical knowledge. And Hoist did repairs but said he was just trained for maintenance. Why did a machine need medicine anyway? What was the difference between maintenance and medical care? Why was Ratchet so special?

As he started to try to categorise the Autobots he ended up with three broad groups: military, civilian and unknown. Ironhide, Brawn, Warpath, Jazz and the twins were definitely military, and he hesitantly added Optimus. Perceptor, Ratchet, Blaster Wheeljack, Hoist, Grapple, Beachcomber and Gears were definitely civilian, happy to pitch in but happier doing their own thing. Which left quite a number of others.

Which brought him to his next revelation: the _Ark_ was too small.

It seemed ridiculous when he first thought it. The ship was huge, the ceilings high enough for Omega Supreme to stand upright and wide enough for Optimus to walk side by side with both Ironhide and Jaz, as he often did. His two constant companions, the mechs he expected to get things done. And yet the proportions were odd.

Most of the _Ark_ was crushed under the mountain, completely inaccessible. The recreation room was the biggest single space, followed by Teletran's room, and most bots could be found in one of those two place at any given time. The only other spaces were Prime's office off Teletran's room, Wheeljack's lab, Perceptor's lab which he shared with Skyfire, the maintenance bay where Hoist, Grapple and most of the minibots worked, the Dinobots' lair which was dug into the mountain itself, and Ratchet's repair bay which was in a shuttle outside.

Why had all these mechs been in one place when the ship crashed? Had there been a part on? Were they really all such great friends that they didn't feel any need for privacy? He had tried to express his concerns to Spike by pointing out that there was nowhere for them to all sleep. His friend, as was often the case, entirely missed the point.

"Well of course not. They probably don't need to sleep, they're not human, remember? Maybe energon's all they need."

"But Bumblebee himself told us they had to recharge."

"Did he? Well maybe they just plug in somewhere. Anyway they probably don't have to do it that often. Remember he said one of his days was two weeks long? Oh! Maybe they use the beds in the repair bay. I've seen them lying down there plugged in. Sometimes it's not even after a battle!"

It was possible, Chip conceded. After all, as refugees with a ruined ship they probably had to put up with a lot of privations. Maybe they'd just decided to accept what couldn't be fixed yet. It wouldn't be all that long, in terms of their incredible lifespans, and they were already planning to build their own city nearby.

Letting go of that consideration for now, it was still true that they had gotten seriously lucky to have all been crammed into the same space during the crash. Particularly when he remembered that the Decepticons had also been aboard.

He had a brief mental image of a cross-factional sleepover, or perhaps something even more intimate... then laughed at himself. One thing he knew for sure: mechanical beings like the Autobots definitely did not have sex. They seemed utterly clueless about human relations and totally unaware of the growing relationship between Spike and Carly. Jazz, Blaster and Bumblebee were a little more on to it than the rest of them, and Ratchet and Perceptor had both had mortifyingly explicit questions until they had gotten the message that this topic was not for open discussion, but mostly behaviour like hugs and kisses confused them. And the time Bumblebee had seen an explicit sex scene at a drive-in movie he had commented that wrestling without clothes on must be very painful based on the noises that were made.

In any case, the issue of how they had all gotten here niggled at him. And then he noticed something else: mechs sometimes disappeared. Not Mirage, though the spy's penchant for sudden appearances got no easier on the nerves with practice. Any bot. And certain bots in particular. Prowl was a good example.

Where did he go? He was not always on patrol or in Teletran's room, but he was only rarely in the rec room. Where else _was_ there to go? He did what he could to explore around the outside, considering that perhaps there was another entrance leading to other rooms. The sands made it difficult to move around, but he managed to convince Hound and Trailbreaker he was very interested in the surroundings and went on several long trips.

They found nothing. And while on the first few outings he thought they might have been avoiding certain areas, when he showed an interest in anything he soon found they were more than willing to clamber up cliffs and help him down into gullies to explore.

He had all but given up on that thought, having decided that perhaps they did just manage with the space they had, when he happened across an interesting conversation. It was during a very wet day when most mechs were trapped inside and yet he had been unable to find either of his friends to continue his exploring. Neither were in Teletran's room so he had moved on to the rec room in time to hear a bitter complaint.

"He doesn't understand how bad it is out there." Tracks was fuming to an unsympathetic audience as Chip approached. "I'd like to see _him_ out there instead of hiding in his office."

"He takes his turn." Smokescreen countered. "He was out all night with Trailbreaker."

"Who was out all night?" Chip asked. "Not Optimus!"

They had not realised he was listening in and now focused on him.

"Oh hey, Chip, how are you? Awful weather, isn't it?" Smokescreen smiled at him as Tracks slunk away muttering about using the washracks.

"Who was patrolling all night?" Chip asked again. "Did you say Optimus?"

"Oh no, he doesn't need to patrol with the rest of us just hanging around doing nothing. Prowl was out with Trailbreaker last night. But don't worry about that. Did you see...?"

"But Prowl doesn't have an office." Chip interrupted.

"Of course he doesn't."

"But Tracks said he was hiding in his office."

"Prime's office." Smokescreen corrected him. "Prowl does a lot of data work in Prime's office. He's probably there right now."

"Great, I've been hoping to catch up with him. See ya."

He heard the others calling to him, but he would not be delayed. If it had not been a slip of the tongue, if Tracks had meant what it _sounded_ like he had meant, then if he got to the Prime's office quickly enough he would find that Prowl wasn't there. And _then_ he could ask about where he was.

Reaching Teletran's room he grinned. Optimus, Jazz and Ironhide were there, apparently seriously researching snowmen. They tried to draw him into conversation but he kept going, promising to come back. The only way to get to Optimus's office was through this room, so either Prowl was already there or the room was empty.

To his mild disappointment, he found Prowl sitting at the large desk, entering data on the terminal there.

"Hi Prowl."

"Oh hello Chip. Are you looking for Optimus?"

"No, I'm looking for you. What are you doing?"

The mech politely picked him up and set him on the desk, then gestured to the screen.

"I'm analysing the pollutant levels around the _Ark_ to discover whether our efforts to remove pollutants are having an effect."

"Isn't that Perceptor's job?"

"Perceptor determines the test methods and identifies solutions. It's not a good use of his time and skill to have him collate the data."

"You're good with that sort of thing."

"Yes, it is a major function for me."

"Oh, okay. Hey listen, I've been meaning to ask you if..."

He was interrupted by Optimus entering the room.

"Excuse me, Chip, but could we possibly have your assistance out here? Can you explain the purpose of the scarf, it hardly seems sufficient for warmth..."

Chip smiled tolerantly and agreed. Now that he knew where Prowl spent much of his time, he could find him again. And next time he would make sure to ask about playing chess.

* * *

Prowl looked up at the form filling the doorway.

"He's gone." Optimus told him.

Prowl sighed in relief, giving up on the tedious work he had been dutifully doing in case Chip returned.

"Thank Primus we put in that spare entrance to your office. I barely made it in time."

"He did seem quite determined to locate you, or perhaps even to prove that you were not in the location he had been told."

Prowl nodded soberly.

"I have said repeatedly that the humans can be curious. And that curiosity does not develop along logical or predictable lines."

"Bumblebee has made the same observation, though so far he seems to have deflected most of the queries that come his way. He was a good choice of envoy. Curious, though, that Chip would fixate on you."

"Beachcomber tells me Chip is interested in me because he found out I play chess. Harmless enough, but it does mean that I need to be visibly present more often until he gets over this interest. It may delay some of my work. Perhaps if I begin regularly doing night shifts again...?"

Optimus laughed.

"And have Jazz whining to me again that he never gets to see you? No thank you. That mech can be a handful. And speaking of him, I hear you finally sorted out his habit of teasing you in public. Want to let me in on how?"

Prowl smiled. He had had a frank discussion with Jazz, pointing out the pros and cons, and then had made an ultimatum: every touch in public meant a full orn - or two Earth weeks - without so much as a hug in private even if that meant Prowl would have find somewhere else to recharge. Since then there had not been a single problem.

"Oh, he can be made to see reason if the argument is clear enough."

* * *

The very next time he visited the _Ark_ he was pleased to find Prowl alone in Teletran's room. He approached him about playing chess and the mech said he would be happy to, but when they went to the rec room to have a game it turned out that the pieces in Prowl's set were too big and heavy and awkward for Chip to manipulate. Which led to the idea of maybe playing online instead, and back to Teletran's room to introduce Prowl to the website where Chip played regularly.

"You need to choose a username."

"My name is Prowl."

"Sorry, looks like someone's already taken that."

"There's someone else called Prowl?"

"Well it's probably not their real name. The idea is that you choose another... uh, identity. You get it?"

Prowl hesitated.

"I'm not sure. Could you give me an example? What is your username?"

"It's there on the screen."

**iluvbobbyfisher**

Prowl stared at it for a moment, then looked at him curiously.

"I did not realise you had a mate, Chip. You should bring Bobby to meet us."

"Oh no! No I don't even know Bobby Fisher."

"Then why do you say you love him?"

"Well it doesn't really mean that. I mean I _admire_ him. He's really great at chess."

Prowl cocked his head to one side, considering, then nodded decisively and typed in a username.

**iluvoptimusprime**

"Thank you, Chip, I understand now. I would be proud to have a username indicating my admiration for our Prime - I think this is a very good thing. Now what is the password I should use?"

Chip dragged his eyes away from the somewhat inappropriate username. The Autobots were so literal sometimes, it became hard to explain some of the subtleties of everyday life. Some things were just easier left awkward rather than try - and inevitably fail - to correct them.

"Well the password should be something secure that no-one can guess. It's supposed to include upper and lower case letters and numbers and can have any of the characters listed there. It has to be at least six characters long but the longer you can make it, the better."

Prowl nodded and entered a long string of characters, then quite readily repeated the feat in the next box.

"I hope that that is secure enough." he fretted. "At only thirty-seven characters it is not difficult to decipher but that's as many as the system will accept."

"I'm sure it will be fine." Chip assured him. "Alright, so you're all set up. So I'll log in at 6 o'clock tonight, and we can play."

"I'm looking forward to it." Prowl assured him.

* * *

Jazz entered his room and found Prowl sitting at the small desk but barely paying attention to the terminal, instead flicking idly through a mech-sized magazine. Some of the human media had done trials of producing their publications in special editions for the Autobots and a few of the crew now had regular subscriptions. This one appeared to be advertising garden plants, probably one of Hound's. Amused at his partner's choice of relaxation material, Jazz leaned down and kissed Prowl leisurely, feeling his partner's lips spread into a smile as he did so.

"About time you came in. Did you have fun with Blaster and Raoul?"

"Yeah, it was good. A shame Tracks didn't wanna go, really, he mighta enjoyed himself."

"A breakdancing competition is hardly his entertainment of choice."

"He's comin' round. He's fond o'that boy."

"Because he has managed to convince 'that boy' to spend much of his spare time waxing and buffing his finish to the point where even Sunstreaker is starting to talk about humans having a value."

Prowl responded drily, then leaned across to type in a few brief commands with one hand.

Jazz looked at the display curiously but had not bothered to learn the rules of the game and the representation meant nothing to him.

"How's the game goin'?"

"Chip's going to win this one."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm. This is the last round for tonight. We've each won two so far, so this will leave him ahead. Unless he makes too many foolish mistakes." he added, watching a move on the screen with a slight frown. "I believe he's getting tired."

"Well it's almost 2 o'clock." Jazz pointed out. "He's gonna need his sleep. Know someone else who could, too."

"You just want someone to cuddle." Prowl teased him.

"Sure do." Jazz nodded. "Hey, what's that?"

Prowl looked up from his magazine.

"What is what?"

" 'I love Optimus Prime'? Tryin' t'make me jealous, mech?"

Prowl chuckled.

"It was too good an opportunity to miss. Chip was trying to explain his own screen name in terms of admiration instead of intimate affection, so I took him up on it."

"You're a bit sneaky at times, Sparkles."

"Well if so, I know where I got it from. Ah. Here we go."

He sat up and typed a few things into the terminal, setting the magazine aside. A few exchanges later, he turned it off.

"Done?" Jazz asked.

"Done." Prowl agreed.

"Good. Then lets have a bit o'this so-called 'intimate affection', eh?"

"Gladly."

* * *

Chip soon came to enjoy Monday nights. That was when prowl would log on and they would play chess into the early hours of Tuesday morning. Thank God he had no classes on a Tuesday!

Prowl claimed he was still learning the rules of chess, but played well if not imaginatively. Exactly as Chip would have expected. Chip won more matches than he lost, but every game was a challenge and if he did not pay full attention it always cost him.

"It'd be nice if he could be distracted just once." he sighed to a group of mechs one Tuesday afternoon. "_He_ doesn't need to go to the bathroom or answer the phone when he's playing."

Most of the others had commiserated, but Jazz had smiled broadly.

"I'll see what I can do, Chip ol'buddy. Ju' leave it all to the Jazz-man."

"What did he mean?" he asked the others as Jazz walked away.

"He's probably going to play a prank or something."

"Oh. Well I hope it works and doesn't just make Prowl angry."

The mechs around him looked amused.

"I think Jazz'll do a good job." Hound smiled. "He's known Prowl for a long time. Whatever he's planning, it'll work."

* * *

Prowl looked up suspiciously as Jazz sauntered into his office. His partner had been plotting something all day, grinning smugly and lurking nearby, and it was grating on his nerves.

"Whatever you're plotting I want no part in it." he said sharply.

Jazz did not so much as pout. A bad sign. He was going ahead with whatever this was and Prowl would have to just deal with it.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm doing, I'm playing chess with Chip just as I do at this time _every_ Monday night. For your information I'm also collating the data from our last battle, writing the report Optimus wanted on the defence potential of the Metroplex site, and assessing your team's proposals."

"Sounds like you could use a break." Jazz commented, sliding up behind his chair and peering over his shoulder at the screen.

"I thought you wanted these assessments by t-tomorrow?" he asked, shuddering as clever fingers ghosted across his sensor panels.

"They can wait a bit." Jazz murmured lowly, directly into his audial while his fingers wandered further.

"W-wait!" Prowl gasped. "I need to concentrate!"

"Nope, not necessary." Jazz assured him, kissing the side of his neck in a particularly sensitive spot.

Prowl shivered but tried to maintain his focus.

"Chip... he's expecting... J-Jazz..."

"The kid won't mind too much if you skip out on jus' one game, I'm thinkin'. Besides, you're revvin' too hard for me t'jus' stop now. right?"

Prowl cursed at him, then arched almost completely out of his chair at a carefully timed brush against his sensitised hinges, overload catching him by surprise.

As he came out of that haze, he found Jazz had pulled him down onto the floor and was cuddling him close, the ops mech's own systems running hot and his plating deliciously warm against Prowl's own. Still, there were commitments to think of.

"I need to finish the game with Chip at the very least." he apologised.

Jazz pouted, then rose and headed for the door, letting his plating ripple slightly, knowing that that always turned Prowl on even harder.

"Be quick then, Sparkles. I'll be waitin'."

Prowl clenched his fists until it hurt, reminding himself that he had other priorities before he could follow.

Now. How quickly could he finish this game?

* * *

Tuesday afternoon, Jazz picked him up to bring him out to the _Ark_ for more exploring with Hound. He had given up on looking for secret entrances, having decided that there simply were none, but it was still a lot of fun being in the scout's company.

"Hey, Jazz."

"Hey there Chip. How'd your game go?"

He laughed brightly.

"I got totally served! Annihilated. He took me out in just seven moves! Thanks for trying, though. I guess whatever you tried didn't distract him."

"Really? But I thought... Oh. Sorry about that, Chip."

"No problem."

It didn't matter anyway. Playing against Prowl was fun, and he didn't really want the mech to go easy on him. He was better at chess than most people he knew, and the few who were better _always_ beat him, so this was much better.

* * *

"Question."

"Hmm?"

"You were seriously revved last night, right?"

Prowl looked at his partner in disbelief.

"I beg your pardon?"

Jazz was frowning deeply.

"You weren't just trickin' me somehow inta thinkin' you were into it?"

"Jazz, what's gotten into you?"

"Well, it's just that Chip asked me to distract you so he could win, except today he tells me you beat him."

Prowl suddenly understood and chuckled, pulling Jazz closer and kissing him firmly.

"You distracted me quite effectively, love. You had my complete and full attention."

"So why'd he still lose, then?"

"Because I couldn't concentrate. I needed to concentrate to stop my tactical centre from simply taking over. Once you distracted me, I beat him far more quickly than I usually allow myself to."

"Oh. Oops."

"Indeed. Now since I don't have that concern right at the moment, seeing as how my next game with him is not until next week, why don't you try distracting me again?"

Jazz grinned.

"One distraction? Check." he semi-quoted from television programmes he had seen.

Prowl grinned back.

"Check_mate_."

And after that there was very little said for quite some time.


	17. To love a stranger

Title: To love a stranger  
Characters: Prowl/Jazz  
Universe: G1-AU (SoaL-verse)  
Rating: M  
Prompt: sorcelling & smut

A/N: written as a birthday gift for gatekat; smut's not really my thing, all I can say is, I tried.

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers

* * *

"What's up, babe?" Jazz asked, entering Prowl's office.

His lover frowned sharply.

"We're on duty."

"I ain't forgot."

"Then please restrain yourself from referring to me affectionately."

Jazz just grinned at him, settling into the visitor's chair and putting his pedes up on the corner of

Prowl's desk.

"So. Why'd you wanna see me?"

"I've been reviewing our current resources, particularly around skill sets. It would appear from the information I have that your promotion has depleted your area of a vital skill."

Jazz's humour faded a little.

"Well that's true. Ain't no-one able to take stuff on like I did. But that's ops business, Prowler, it's nothin' t'do wit'you."

"On the contrary, if I am to plan effectively I must know the capabilities of each team. And your team, if my information is correct, is now lacking anyone able to sorcel. I understand that this is an infiltration technique?"

"Of sorts. It's a way of disguisin'."

Prowl abruptly smiled in triumph.

"Ah! It's the method by which you were able to take the physical appearance of Nox?"

"Nox?" Jazz echoed. "Oh yeah, durin' the report back. Yeah, that was sorcellin'. Surprised you remembered."

"I remembered." Prowl assured him drily, doorwings twitching faintly and catching Jazz's attention. "I missed much of the discussion in that meeting staring at you and wanting to touch to see if whether it was real or a hologram."

"Really?"

Jazz's own memory of that meeting was of seeing Prowl on duty in his senior capacity for the first time and being impressed how well his young lover had fitted into that role.

"In any case," Prowl brought the conversation back on topic. "I need to know how the lack of this skill will impact on my planning."

Jazz winced.

"Not another report?"

"I fear so."

Jazz sighed heavily.

"Did CB ever just say _no_?"

"He tried." Prowl told him sweetly. "Once."

* * *

A joor later Prowl passed through the antechamber of their quarters, a little surprised to find the lights off. He knew Jazz had come back here only a groon earlier and it was unlike his partner to go straight to recharge. Concerned that perhaps Jazz was unwell, he moved a little more quickly to cross the space and opened the door to the berthroom only to find a stranger positioned provocatively on the berth.

"Nox?" he blurted, startled.

"If you like." a clean Altihexian accent responded. "You said you wanted to touch - well here's your chance."

Saying nothing, he sank down on the edge of the berth, content to just look for a moment. Nox was almost half again as tall as Jazz, pedes nearly dropping off the end of their standard-sized berth, but spindly where his normal form was more thickset. Prowl's systems automatically translated his altmode as being a telescope. He wondered vaguely if Jazz was capable of making that transformation too, then dismissed the question as irrelevant.

"Are you going to touch or not?" Nox asked somewhat impatiently.

Prowl glanced up at him curiously.

"So the accent comes with the form?"

"You sound disappointed."

"It's... jarring. I can _feel_ you here, but your accent is wrong."

"You would prefer another accent, perhaps?" a familiar but completely wrong voice responded.

Prowl glared sharply at him.

"I have _no_ interest in sharing a berth with the Prime."

"Even if I ordered it?" the deep Iaconian tones remained.

"Behave, or I will leave."

Nox stared at him for a moment, then gave a wicked grin.

"Y'could always gag me, Sparkles."

Prowl smiled back and leaned forward to kiss him, relaxing.

"Tempting, but I doubt it would keep you quiet for long." he admitted as he pulled back to look some more, one hand sliding down Jazz's arm. "How do you manage to change your armour colouration? This isn't paint."

"Th'nanites can be manipulated if y'know how."

"Which you obviously do. Yet you don't do so with your standard form?"

His hand had drifted to Jazz's thin waist, marvelling at the fact that he could almost encircle it with both hands. So very different. His explorations were also having an effect on Jazz who squirmed a little to try to increase the pressure of his touches.

"My work's all about not gettin' caught. Givin' away the extent o'my abilities falls into the category o'fatally stupid. So once I've set a form I don't frag round with... oh, yeah, babe, right there!"

Prowl obliged, stroking over the clearly sensitive point on the inside of Jazz's thigh, then bending over to kiss it chastely. It was not one of Jazz's usual spots, but it was certainly generating a positive response now. The kiss made Jazz moan quite satisfactorily, dropping back on his elbows and letting his head fall back. Which drew Prowl's attention back to the delicate sensor array on his head.

It was made up of a number of interwoven strands and tiny lozenge-shaped plates. In a battle situation it was designed to tighten and flatten against the helm, protecting itself, but with the host relaxed the strands flowed freely, the platelets ruffled and connected only at one edge.

From what he understood they should be just as sensitive as his own sensor panels, under the right conditions. And these were ideal conditions.

Taking his time to explore on his way back up, he made mental notes of anywhere that got a reaction. The only one that he anticipated was directly above Jazz's spark, and he lingered there for a moment before continuing. He had to adjust his position a bit to get back to Jazz's mouth, given how much taller this form was than his own, and he found himself staring down at an unfamiliar visor. So much narrower than Jazz's usual one and it actually seemed more like an affectation than anything else. He had never thought about it before, but now he brushed the edges of the visor curiously and was startled when Jazz retracted it to reveal two bright blue optics.

"Surprise." Jazz murmured.

"Surprised." Prowl agreed, tracing around the sockets and finding that the facial plating under the visor was deliciously sensitive. "Can you do that normally?"

"Nuh." Jazz grunted, twitching under the caresses. "Nope, that visor's set in place."

"But you've still got optics underneath?"

"Yeah. They come in handy sometimes."

Privately deciding that if he ever got the chance he was going to talk to Hoist about making Jazz's usual visor retractable so he could discover if Jazz was normally this sensitive, he relented a little and kissed the strangely bronzed lips once again, sliding his hand up the back of Jazz's helm and gently sifting the sensory array strands with his fingers. He expected them to be sensitive, but to his dismay he found Jazz did not react at all.

"Doesn't that feel good?"

Jazz shrugged.

"Pro'ly would if this were my real form. Sorcellin' means I gotta get the platin' in the right places, but it don't always mean the sensors match up. This form's just too diff'rent for me to replicate it completely."

"Why take it on, then?" Prowl asked, disappointedly letting his hand drop away. "Wouldn't that put you at risk?"

No point in continuing caresses Jazz could not feel. Jazz, though, had other ideas and moved Prowl's hand back to the base of his helm.

"This ain't a form I take for long term missions. Better to go wit'somethin' a bit more compatible. Still, those sensors are still there, just not in the places you might expect."

Prowl let his fingers explore a little and this time was rewarded with a pleasured shiver which made the strands of the so-called senor array jangle together.

"So I'm discovering."

"An' pretty quickly too."

"I'm a fast learner."

"So I heard. C'mere."

Up until now Jazz had held still, letting him do as he pleased, but now he wrapped long arms around Prowl's form, drawing him down over him. Prowl resisted a little.

"Won't I be too heavy for you?"

"I ain't as fragile as I look, Sparkles." Jazz promised, insisting, kissing him firmly and splaying long fingers over his doorwings.

"Cheat." Prowl mumbled, noticing that he was now caught too high up to reach most of the areas of sensitivity he had identified.

"This one was your idea, remember?" Jazz laughed, then shuddered pleasantly as Prowl teased the spot at the nape of his neck.

"My idea was to touch you to see if the change were real. It was your idea to turn this into something sordid."

"Sordid?" Jazz snorted. "Don't play the innocent wit'_me_, Sparkles, I know you're no prude."

"If not it's purely your bad influence."

Jazz stopped the banter by kissing him, and Prowl felt his spark beginning to pulse in time with his lover's. Not that that ever took much encouragement to start. The unusual sensation of long fingers against his doorpanels was erotic, particularly as the thumbs began caressing the edges and he arched a little, trying to increase the pressure. He flared his energy field, receiving an appreciative moan in response, and pressed a kiss to the bridge of Jazz's nose, right where the visor had ended. Jazz shuddered, tipping into a gentle overload, triggering Prowl's own and they both gave in to the haze of rightness that came from the unshakeable love they shared.

* * *

"I think I know how it must be for a minibot with a standard sized lover." Prowl sighed, a few moments later, snuggling up against the unfamiliar chest.

"Totally at my mercy?" Jazz suggested.

"Happy enough for myself but a little frustrated I couldn't participate equally."

"You were doin' jus' fine. Or didn't ya notice I overloaded first?"

Prowl smiled smugly.

"Yes, I noticed. Still, I prefer you as you normally are."

"Well _that's_ a relief." Jazz joked. "Mechs get a bit twitchy when they realise how much I can change. Poor Red'd pro'ly have a total breakdown."

"Is it difficult to change back? Does it take long?"

"Nah, not long. Changin' back to a form I know pretty well doesn't take much longer'n a normal transscan change."

"Show me."

Jazz shook his head firmly.

"It ain't pretty to watch."

"Well I'm not charging with a stranger in my berth - I want you back to normal."

"I'll go an' do it an' come back..."

"I want to see."

Jazz sighed but slid off the berth and stood in the open space between it and the door, standing in profile to Prowl. The first thing to happen was a ripple of colour across his whole body, gold fading alarmingly quickly to grey, then returning to black and white, with scatterings of blue and red, but in uneven patches across the tall frame. Even as that was settling, Jazz's frame began to contort as though shifting to an altmode, but Prowl flinched as he saw parts and plating move in ways that no conversion program would ever allow. Jazz doubled over on himself, armour twisting and shuffling in awkward ways, sometimes forming triple or quadruple thicknesses while in other places inner systems were left entirely exposed. Twice Prowl caught a glimpse of Jazz's scarred spark chamber, once near the floor, then again off to one side as it was rearranged into position along with everything else.

Finally Jazz straightened and stretched, back to his normal form, and turned to face him.

The whole process had taken only half a breem.

"Not pretty." Jazz apologised, returning to the berth. "Warned ya."

"You did." Prowl agreed, cuddling up to him and running a hand over the now perfectly smooth white plating. "It looked painful."

"A bit, but y'get used to it. Mostly it's just tirin'. Takes a lotta energy."

"So not a good idea straight after overloading?" Prowl teased gently.

Jazz snorted, nuzzling his cheek.

"Y'didn't wear me out _that_ much, Sparkles."

Prowl smiled but did not take him up on the implied offer, well able to sense how weary he was.

"So could you take Prime's form if you chose to?

Jazz grunted.

"Thought you were set against that."

"In my berth, yes, but that could be a serious tactical advantage, to make everyone believe he was in one location when he was in fact somewhere else."

"Ah. Well sorry, babe, I can't help ya there. He's too big."

"So sorcelling does have its limits, then?"

"It's pretty much just altmode formin', jus' without the usual transscan limits."

"But you were in root mode."

"Semantics."

Prowl ran a hand over Jazz's smooth white armour.

"And none of your agents can do this?"

"None o'the survivin' ones. Takes a bit o'skill an' a whole lotta practice. An' it hurts like the pit when ya get it wrong, tends t'put'em off. Not to mention how embarrassin' it is havin' t'go to the medics halfway between forms. They get kinda cross."

"I can imagine."

Jazz's visor was dim, starting to drift into recharge, and Prowl let him go. For once his mate was actually more worn out than he was, a rare occurrence.

Checking the morning's rosters he made a few small adjustments, adding a dire warning for anyone who attempted to change it or disturb them: a morning off would do them both some good. Smiling to himself, he kissed Jazz's shoulder and snuggled in closer. Tomorrow they would be more active; for now the delight of simply resting together for a full night was enough of a pleasure, and far more precious for being so rare.


	18. A rose by any other name

Title: A rose by any other name  
Characters: Prowl/Jazz, G1 ensemble  
Universe: G1  
Rating: T

A/N: Why is Sideswipe involved in this conversation? No idea, he just insisted on being included.

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers or Tron. Just playing.

* * *

Gaining the vocabulary of another language was rarely difficult, and made infinitely easier when the species who used it converted that language into digital form. But manipulating that language to describe themselves was always more complicated, and English was no exception. Jazz looked at the short list on the display board, consulting his own copy of the new dictionary for alternatives.

Robot. Android. Machine. Mechanism.

"Look at these definitions." Ratchet fumed. "There's no way in the pit I'm being referred to as a _robot_."

"Android's no better." Ironhide added. " 'Human-like'? Slag that."

" 'Mechanism' is a possibility." Prowl considered. "It is context-neutral."

"Still got a lot of organic connotations." Jazz mused. "What about shortenin' it down to just 'mech'?"

There was a brief silence, then Optimus nodded.

"Very well, we will refer to ourselves as 'mechs'. What about our home world?"

If it were not so important to get agreement on all of this, Jazz might have tried to get out of this tedious work. Normally a socio-linguist in the team would make all of the decisions and the terminology would simply be used. But the only surviving socio-linguist in their group was Streetwise and he was still in stasis, so they would have to work through it without him.

"...cyber from the context of 'cybernetics'." Prowl was saying as he returned his attention to the discussion. "It should give the impression of computation and artificiality they would expect from a mechanical being."

"Ooh, add 'tron' to it!" Sideswipe begged, having just done some broader searching.

"Tron?" Optimus echoed, confused.

Jazz laughed, catching the tone of the references Sideswipe had been reading.

"Crazy view of a digital reality." he summarised. "Cyber-tron. Works for me."

"Cybertron." Prowl recorded. "Very well. Now our factions. I have already made two suggestions, do we need to discuss these further?"

" 'Autobots' and 'Decepticons'?" Ironhide questioned dubiously.

"These aren't current vocabulary." Ratchet grumbled.

"That is standard practice." Prowl explained patiently. "These are terms that we want to have meaning yet be foreign. So, 'Autobot'. I built this based on the phrase 'autonomous robotic mechanism' with the word autonomous shortened..."

"I thought we agreed not to use 'robot'?" Optimus interrupted.

"That is true but the word has some benign qualities which may be of use to us."

"Isn't 'auto' usually short for 'automatic'?" Jazz asked.

"Or 'automobile'." Sideswipe piped up. " 'Automobile robot'."

"Translates as drone, to me." Ratchet grumbled.

"Which is a _good_ thing." Prowl insisted. "If you recall, we are attempting to make ourselves appear harmless, no real threat to the native creatures here. A non-threatening name can help with that."

There was a brief silence as they digested the unpleasant reminder, then Optimus nodded.

"Autobots, it is. Now 'Decepticon'?"

"A combination of 'deception' and 'confidence artist'."

Jazz folded his arms and regarded his mate thoughtfully.

"Showing much bias here, babe?"

"I did have other suggestions but they were more blatant."

"Alright." Optimus summarised. "We are the Autobots. We are mechs from the planet Cybertron, at war with the Decepticons..."

"Pursued by the _evil_ Decepticons." Sideswipe suggested grinning broadly. "Well, they are."

"Evil's a matter of perspective." Jazz considered. "Would get us some sympathy votes, though, if we don't overplay it. And if they attack where the humans can see they're at fault."

"Can we contrive that?" Ironhide asked.

"I'm sure it can be arranged." Prowl nodded. "I'll update the shared vocabulary lists. The most pressing item that remains is our need to select English designations for ourselves."

"After some charge." Optimus decided, rising. "We have been at this for long enough, it will wait until morning."

* * *

"So, any ideas?" Jazz asked as he and Prowl headed back to the room that had been allocated to them.

"I have many ideas." Prowl replied, deadpan. "Could you be more specific in your request?"

"Your name, mech. Any ideas what you wanna be called?"

"I have a few I am considering, much as I imagine you have."

"Nope."

Prowl looked across at him in mild surprise.

"You have no ideas?"

"Didn't say that, I just ain't in a considerin' phase. I've already picked."

"Very well. What have you selected?"

"Jazz."

Prowl looked up the reference as his partner opened the door.

"A musical style?"

"An _improvisational_ music style. An' a stylish one, at that."

"I see. Yes, that makes sense. Jazz. Succinct and descriptive. Excellent."

Jazz snorted, moving to the berth.

"Well thanks for the approval. What about you, then?"

"Chief. Or perhaps Officer."

"A bit bland." Jazz shook his head. "I've got a better idea: what about Prowler?"

Prowl frowned deeply, sitting on the side of the berth while he checked his vocabulary centre.

"Meaning a criminal who sneaks about a residence?"

"The sneakin' part, sure, but I was meanin' like as in a police car." Jazz corrected him, reaching up to caress the lights on Prowl's back between his doorwings. "I love this addition, babe, it's so sexy."

Prowl shivered a little, the band of red and blue lights being rather sensitive.

"It seems rather dubious to use colloquial language in that w-way." he argued, stuttering at the end as Jazz's exploring fingers found a particularly sensitive spot.

"Works for me. Besides, it kinda rolls off the glossa. Suits ya. Prowlin's how they describe the way a feline moves, an you're at least as gorgeous as any cat. Particularly when ya arch, jus' like, oh, _that_..."

This time he yelped and twisted to face Jazz, limiting his access to the now sensitised area and catching his wrists.

"Stop that, or I'm going to have to restrain you."

Jazz's internal fans turned on at the threat.

"Ooh, yeah, Prowler, _restrain me_."

Prowl had to admit, the name did sound nice when said like that.

"How about we cut it shorter to just Prowl?" he suggested.

"Whatever y'want, babe. Just hurry up an' frag me already."

Prowl smiled, staring appreciatively down at his rather excited mate, approving of the sleek lines of this new form. Well, in the end what they called themselves made no more difference than the physical shapes they inhabited. It was just a word and just an appearance; what mattered was what they felt for each other and how they expressed their love.

And no change of name would ever change that.


	19. Cheer me up when I'm down

Title: Cheer me up when I'm down  
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Bluestreak  
Universe: G1-AU (SoaL-verse, part 14)  
Rating: T

A/N: this is the missing scene where the twins help Bluestreak to test his new upgrade - it's SoaL compliant, but should work okay as a one-shot. Written for femme4jack - happy birthday ^_^

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, I'm just playing with them

* * *

Bluestreak trudged into the main rec room and entered his access code into the dispenser for a ration of energon. An error message flashed up, and he sighed heavily as he realised that it needed maintenance and could only issue oil.

He didn't mind a cube of oil now and then, but he had been really looking forward to a nice cube of mid-grade to cheer himself up with. Still, unless he could be bothered heading to the other dispenser at the far end of the deck he would have to make do, so he accepted the offer and wandered over to an empty table.

The orn had started out with a Decepticon alert and being roused out of recharge to rush to his duty station, but after a groon the alert was cancelled. No reason was given as to why, but that was common. A hazard of space battles: you could never tell whether or not the ship was moving unless you were on the command deck.

Or unless you patched in to the navigation network, but doing that during an alert was enough to get you thrown in the brig in case you were a spy.

His morning had improved a little when Prowl joined him just outside the repair bay two breems before his scheduled upgrade. It was a silly thing to do, to even ask the insanely busy SIC to hold his hand through a programming upload, but he had had bad uploads before and Prowl did not seem to mind.

New software uploads always made him feel slightly queasy, and the medic had offered to put him into light stasis, which he had happily accepted. But when he had come back online he had been alone, and his mood had dropped.

Prowl had left only a few clicks before, the medic had assured him, the tactician waiting until he was coming out of stasis even though he was late for a meeting with the Prime. The information was supposed to make him feel better, he was sure, but instead it just made him wish Prowl could have waited just those few clicks longer. If he was late already, then why not be just that tiny bit later?

It was selfish, but he could not shake the resentment. He had been looking forward to onlining his optics and seeing Prowl still there beside him.

"Primus, what happened to you?"

"What?" he asked dully, looking up to see the twins approaching, Sideswipe having spoken and now reaching him first.

"Why're you so down?"

"Oh. No reason, I guess."

"Not very convincing." Sideswipe declared, sliding into a chair. "Hey, weren't you having your upgrade this afternoon?"

"I did."

Sideswipe's head tilted to one side slightly as his brother joined them.

"So did it go wrong or something?"

"What? No. It's fine."

"Then why're you talking like me?" Sunstreaker demanded.

Bluestreak looked at him in startlement, then felt a faint smile twitching at his lips.

"Sorry, I guess I'm just a bit tired today. Oh, and before you try, the dispenser's broken."

"Yeah, we know." Sideswipe shrugged, unsubspacing a couple of cubes of energon and offering one. "Want some?"

Bluestreak accepted, but was confused.

"If you knew it was broken then why'd you come here? I mean, there's not much point at this time of the shift if you don't want to eat."

"We came to find you." Sunstreaker explained bluntly.

"Me?"

"Yeah." Sideswipe nodded. "Wanted to see if this upgrade really made any difference or if it was just a waste of time."

"It can't be a waste of time, it's the standard sniper upgrade and it's been used on hundreds of mechs, so why would they bother if it didn't work."

"Didn't say it wouldn't work, just that maybe you didn't need it. You were pretty good to start with, and you can't beat natural talent. Just look at us - there's nobody better, anywhere."

"True." Sunstreaker grunted.

"So. Drink up, and then we'll go test it out." Sideswipe suggested.

"Test...?"

"Sure. We've got a room booked in the hold and a simulation all set up. It'll be fun."

* * *

The energon turned out to be high grade and he protested that it wouldn't be a fair test of the programming if he was drunk, but somehow they talked him into drinking it anyway.

Well, what did it matter? He needed to relax a bit, to not worry for a while.

So he drank his energon, and let them talk him back into a good mood, and when they got down to the hold he switched his favourite rifle to its lowest setting, used only for training, and then took aim. But Sideswipe got in his way.

"Hey, what're you doing?" he complained, looking up.

"Gotta explain the rules first."

"Rules?"

"Yeah. See we looked up your average. Ninety-six percent at this range. So. Do better with this programming and you get a prize. Do worse, and you get a penalty."

"What kind of prize? And what penalty?"

"You'll find out." Sunstreaker assured him. "Now shoot."

"No pressure, now." Sideswipe carolled.

Activating the new programming he was pleased to see useful data appear on his HUD. Initiating the simulation, he set to work but the first couple of shots went wide as he learned to interpret the data scrolling across his vision. He recovered, but not quite enough and his score was lower than normal.

A little concerned about what the mischievous twins might have in store, he began talking quickly.

"Well that was just a test round, so now I'll do it for real and..."

He got no further as Sunstreaker kissed him hard, driving him back a few steps with the force of his advance. Bluestreak tottered a little, but then found himself stabilised by strong arms holding him up. Sideswipe.

The kiss was undeniably nice, and he was slightly disappointed when Sunstreaker pulled away.

"There. Your penalty."

He gaped.

"That was the penalty? Wow, I think maybe I should deliberately lose, then!"

"You haven't seen the prize, yet." Sideswipe reminded him. "Come on, give it another go."

Fumbling for the rifle that had almost dropped from his fingers, he tried to focus. He was hyperconscious of the two of them watching him, but engaged the programming and triggered the sequence for the second time. This time he was able to use the new data to his advantage, and did better.

"Perfect score!" Sideswipe cheered even as the last target fell.

"No it wasn't, see, it says that..."

"No arguing with the referee." Sideswipe mock-scolded him, sauntering forward. "Now come here for your prize."

"I thought this was the penalty?" Bluestreak pointed out absently as Sideswipe came close.

"_He's_ the penalty. I'm the prize." Sideswipe leered, pressing tantalising kisses along Bluestreak's jaw.

"How's that fair?"

"Oh, next time we'll swap roles."

There would be a next time? The thought made him feel giddy.

"N-no, I mean fair on _me_?"

Sunstreaker chuckled, moving in from behind and possessively stroking Bluestreak's doorwings.

"I think we both look _very_ fair on you. Right, Sides?"

"Mm. Look even better _in_ you..."

Bluestreak pulled away quickly, moving so his back was against a wall, wishing his fans were not so obviously loud.

"I think we're going a bit fast. For me. I want to... to go a bit slower. And I don't want to do this somewhere public where anyone can just walk in and see! Or anywhere, just yet. It's not that I don't appreciate this, but I don't want to go that fast. I want to take it slow. I want my next lovers to be someone who wants to be serious. Someone who'll always be there for me, like Jazz is for Prowl."

"You mean like Prowl is for Jazz." Sunstreaker corrected him.

The correction confused him.

"Same thing isn't it?"

"Nope." Sideswipe shook his head, but did not elaborate. "Blue, we like you, but if you've got someone else in mind then just say so. We'll back off."

"Although you'll be sorry you missed out." Sunstreaker added.

Bluestreak smiled, feeling slightly nervous but not beyond teasing just a little.

"Well I do actually have someone in mind. You two. If you're interested."

"Then why stop?" Sunstreaker complained.

"I told you - I want to go slow and be sure."

Sideswipe regarded him thoughtfully.

"You know Prowl's trying to keep us away from you."

"He's just being protective. I doubt his mentor would ever approved of Jazz."

"So how slow is slow?" Sunstreaker asked, clearly focused.

"The kissing was nice."

Sideswipe grinned.

"Nice? Mech, you haven't seen anything yet!"


	20. Sweet revenge

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, I don't make any profit from this, I just do it for fun ^_^

**Title: Sweet revenge**  
Rating: T  
'Verse: G1-AU (SoaL-compliant), sequel for "To love a stranger"  
Characters: Jazz/Prowl

A/N: written as a birthday gift for bluebirdsoaring

* * *

Prowl walked down the hall feeling annoyed, in part because he was not sure what to do about his own mood.

Jazz was a full orn late in returning from his latest mission, but those sorts of things happened at times. Still, this had been a very low risk mission and should have been simple for someone of Meister's skill. It had been bothering Prowl that perhaps they had entirely misjudged the situation and with each passing joor he had to work harder not to fret about what might have occurred. But a short time ago his concern had turned to frustration as he discovered that Jazz had in fact returned to the ship without reporting in and without making contact.

He had found this out entirely by chance. Looking for a distraction from his own worries, he had decided he needed some company and he had elected to get some energon from the crew rec room rather than using the officer's space, mindful of how Jazz liked him to mix with others more. But as he walked into the room he overheard Bumblebee telling Hound that Mirage needed his help with Jazz in their quarters, and that had spoiled his appetite entirely.

If Jazz needed help, why had he not asked Prowl? Why was he in Mirage and Hound's quarters? And what was Hound supposed to be needed for?

Prowl had returned to his office and continued with his work for awhile, telling himself that Jazz would no doubt appear shortly. This had not happened. His shift had eventually ended and he was now torn between demanding that Mirage and Hound send Jazz to him, and changing the lock on their quarters so that Jazz would be shut out.

Both were frustratingly immature reactions and he had not given in to either impulse but it had been tempting.

Finally reaching his quarters he headed inside and was surprised to feel Jazz's presence. Heading through to the berthroom he began to ask what his partner was up to when he found a stranger standing there.

No, not a stranger. Jazz, sorcelled into the form of a conehead jet. Specifically, the form he had taken on when pretending to be Hound's prisoner.

Prowl frowned.

"If this is supposed to be a joke I fail to see the humour." he said coolly."My interest in your sorcelling abilities has been satisfied. And I have seen quite enough of this particular form."

Jazz grimaced.

"Sorry, babe. I was hopin' t'get this sorted before you came home."

"Get what 'sorted'?"

"I'm... well, I'm kinda stuck in this form."

"I don't understand."

"Nah, y'wouldn't." Jazz sighed, rubbing at his helm. "It's like this: I sorcelled into this shape for the mission. Thing is, I'd been thinkin' 'bout what you said, how the sensors're all in the wrong places. So while I was away I did a bit o'tweakin' t'see if I could get the wings t'be a bit more sensitive. Like your panels."

"And?" Prowl asked when Jazz simply stopped.

The jet twitched.

"Well, it worked."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Uh, well, turns out they're so sensitive I can't change back. Every time I start to try they ache like the pit. I had to get Raj an' Hound t'sneak me back here. Raj tried t'help me change back, he's helped out before, but I've stuffed myself up right good this time. I should jus' be able t'move'em back outta the way given a bit more time but they're so charged up it's gonna take ages. The only way t'do it quicker'd be t'get a medic t'turn off the sensors first, but if Ratchet finds out he'll have a fit. I kinda promised him I'd stop playin' round wit'this."

"His reaction would be entirely reasonable." Prowl mused. "Still, perhaps I can talk him into being more forgiving. For a price."

Jazz had begun to look hopeful, but now froze.

"What sort of price?"

Prowl closed the berthroom door and setting a new lock combination into the keypad, then turned to bestow an anticipatory smile on his partner.

"I'm thinking of all the times you've tormented me by playing with my doorwings. Tomorrow I'll talk to Ratchet. Tonight, I'm going to get some revenge."


	21. Mischief

Title: Mischief

Rating: K  
'Verse: G1  
Characters: Prowl/Jazz

A/N: happy birthday fianna9 ^_^

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, I just play with 'em :)

* * *

Prowl's arrival in the rec room in the middle of the day was unusual, but not overly remarkable. His actions were a different matter, though.

He got a cube of energon and drank it all in one long gulp. Then when he was finished, instead of heading off to his office he turned to the corner and began manipulating the stereo system that was quietly playing.

He selected a track with a strong beat and began dancing to it.

Everyone in the rec room fell silent, watching startled as the mech in the corner got more and more involved in the dance. Then the music stopped and Prowl simply pulled himself back into his usual posture and strode out.

"What the frag was _that_?" Cliffjumper blurted.

Just as curious, Bluestreak darted out of the room and found Prowl heading towards the command centre, datapad in hand.

"That was really cool!" he enthused.

Prowl looked at him mildly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The dancing. It was neat! I didn't know you could dance like that."

"Dancing is hardly important for my role."

"Yeah I know but..."

"One moment, I need to check on the security room." Prowl interrupted him, heading into the small room.

Bluestreak waited patiently outside, realising that several others had been following them and were waiting at a distance, listening in. Prowl re-emerged after a brief moment, clearly not needing long for whatever he was doing.

"It's okay." Bluestreak assured him. "I mean, no-one'll care if you want to dance, you were really good too!"

Prowl's gaze was fixed on his datapad.

"I was thinking of taking it up as a hobby."

"Dancing? Really?"

"Jazz has been helping me. Unfortunately he finds the idea rather erotic so I have been unable to practice adequately in our quarters without interruption."

Bluestreak's jaw dropped. Everyone knew Jazz had moved in with Prowl a few months back, but they were both remarkably discreet. Prowl never talked about their private life, and Jazz just grinned and winked when pressed for details.

"Uh..." he began unintelligently.

"I'm considering having a stereo unit installed in my office so that I can practice there." Prowl continued blandly, striding onwards, now heading towards the medbay. "Not that that is likely to dissuade Jazz from interrupting, of course. The mech can be very persistent when he is focused on a particular course of action. Would you excuse me a moment, I need to speak with Ratchet on a private matter?"

"S-sure."

"Thank you."

Prowl headed into the medbay and the door closed behind him. Several of the others moved up to beside Bluestreak.

"Is he feeling okay?" Sideswipe asked.

"He's not acting like himself, that's for sure." Windcharger shook his head. "I wonder if he's been attacked by an Insecticon or something."

"He's _not_ acting like himself." Blaster agreed, frowning, then laughed. "Maybe because he's not."

The others looked at the bigger mech, who shrugged.

"Think about it. He's paired up with Jazz. He's _acting_ like Jazz. What's the bet this _is_ Jazz in disguise and Prowl's back in his office working as normal?"

Groaning as the answer became obvious they all waited until Prowl returned. The tactician looked around the group with mild curiosity.

"Has something happened?"

"You're not Prowl." Sideswipe accused him.

Prowl stared at him blankly.

"Your statement makes no sense. Of course I am Prowl, who else would I be?"

"Play it up as much as you like, _Prowl_, we all know you're really Jazz."

"Jazz is in a meeting with Optimus Prime."

"Sure he is."

Prowl gave them an exasperated look.

"I have no time for these games, there is work to be done. If you'll excuse me."

He tried to push through the group, but Smokescreen caught his arm.

"Oh no you don't. We want to see you and Jazz together before we let you go anywhere."

"I told you, he's in a meeting." Prowl said firmly.

"Then we'll all just wait until he comes out." Windcharger shrugged.

"Very well. We will all go to Prime's office. And when Jazz emerges you will see that you're incorrect. And at that stage you will all leave me in peace or I will find you work to do. Agreed?"

Several of the group looked less certain, but Sideswipe nodded.

"Agreed. Come on," he told the others as Prowl headed off, "he's bluffing, he's gotta be."

Curious, the group moved on, following until Prowl reached the door to Prime's office. The tactician muttered in irritation but knocked on the door which opened after a moment to reveal Optimus and Jazz sitting at the Prime's desk, both looking surprised by the crowd.

"What's up?" Jazz asked before Optimus could speak.

Prowl strode inside to stand beside where Jazz was sitting, then gestured at the crowd.

"They think I'm you."

"Say what? Why'd they think that?"

"I have no idea. My apologies, Prime, for interrupting your meeting."

"That's alright, Prowl, we were just finished in any case."

"Which, by my countin', puts us both of duty for a bit, right?" Jazz mused, rising.

"Correct." Prowl agreed.

"Good." Jazz grinned, then swept Prowl off his pedes into a deep kiss.

* * *

_Ten minutes later_

Prowl and Jazz walked into Prowl's office and closed the door, then turned to face their duplicates waiting there for them.

"Well?"

"They thought I was you." the Prowl-clone sighed, fiddling with the temporary holograph unit he was wearing to turn it off and flickering back to his normal blue and white colouration.

"That was fun." the other mech grinned, his own hologram fading to reveal green paint.

"The upshot being that they all _would_ notice if we started actin' diff'rent." Jazz mused.

"That is good for security." Prowl reminded him. "Thank you, Mirage, Hound, this was useful."

"Hope you're not too mad with how we played it." Hound said apologetically.

Prowl waved a hand dismissively.

"We asked you to do so. I'm sure we can manage to live with whatever fallout comes of this. Thank you for your assistance."

The spy and the scout left, and Jazz stretched.

"Y'know, we _coulda_ just done it by sorcellin'. I could show ya how."

Prowl snorted.

"We tried that before and as soon as you got your hands on me the lesson ended."

Jazz grinned, moving to straddle his lover's lap.

"Can't help it, you're jus' that slaggin' sexy."

"Hmm." Prowl responded, kissing him. "There is one thing concerning me about this experiment, however."

"What's that?"

"How did Hound know I like to dance to the Red Hot Chili Peppers?"

"Lucky guess?"

"With your staff, I doubt it."

Jazz laughed, nuzzling his forehead.

"No-one'll believe it. They already know they've been duped, they jus' can't figure out how."

"True. Very true." Prowl mused, then rose, tipping Jazz off his lap. "Come on."

"Where to?"

Prowl grinned coyly at him.

"I feel like dancing."


	22. Lets do it again!

**Title: Lets do it again!  
**

Rating: K  
Characters: Prowl/Jazz  
'Verse: G1  
Summary: You know how some people get a kind of mania about certain things, like laying concrete or using machinery? Well Jazz has found his weakness.

A/N: belated birthday gift for MoonWallker.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I don't make any profit, I just do this for fun

* * *

_First attempt_

Jazz cautiously lifted the box out of his subspace and set it in place. So far, so good. Activating the timer he set it to an appropriate time and started to open the lid...

BOOM.

* * *

_Second attempt_

Jazz cautiously lifted the box out of his subspace and set it in place... but a bit of grit meant it was uneven. He reached out to smooth the surface...

BOOM.

* * *

_Third attempt_

Jazz carefully checked that the surface was clear and even, then cautiously lifted the box out of his subspace and set it in place. He switched on the timer but it did not activate. He gave it a light tap with one finger...

BOOM.

* * *

_Fourth attempt_

Jazz checked that the surface was clear and reached into his subspace...

BOOM.

* * *

_Fifth attempt (after some medical care)_

Jazz inspected the area carefully, then cautiously lifted the box out of his subspace. Lowering it gently onto the surface, he turned on the timer and set it, then gradually opened the lid. There was a faint hissing sound but no other reaction.

Backing away in a gliding motion so as not to unbalance it, he moved out of range. Two minutes later there was an audible fizzing which went suddenly silent and then...

BOOM.

"See?" he said smugly to his mate. "I told you I could do it."

Prowl did not look at all impressed and turned away.

"Request denied."

"What?" Jazz yelped, chasing after him. "But you said you would if I could do it."

"That was before you failed in four consecutive attempts. A twenty percent success rate is unacceptable."

"Please, Prowler? I just needed the practice. Look - I'll do it again."

"No."

"Come on, just watch." Jazz begged, grabbing his arm and pulling him to a stop.

"The answer is no."

Out of other ideas, Jazz pouted and saw Prowl's doorwings twitch.

"I said no, Jazz."

Jazz stayed silent, pleading with his expression alone.

"It exploded on you five times!" the tactician exclaimed. "Once inside your subspace!"

Jazz waited, sensing victory was close, and sure enough after another minute Prowl caved.

"Oh fine then." he grumbled. "I'll endorse your proposal. Primus knows you won't let me alone until I do."

Jazz cheered loudly, immediately brighting, and swept Prowl into a tight hug.

"You're the greatest, Prowler!"

"Just hold to the plan - Mirage and Hound are to be with you so they can extract you if necessary."

"Sure thing."

"And _try_ to come back in one piece."

"Mech - trust me. There ain't no way I'm messin' _this_ up. Those Cons ain't gonna have a clue what hit'em!"

* * *

"Hoist?"

"Oh hey, Prowl. What can I do for you?"

"Jazz's surprise for the Decepticons. Could you perhaps take a look at it and see if you can do something about the stability? I'd prefer not to have him blowing himself up in the middle of a battle."

"Sure thing. In fact, I've got exactly the thing - a shock-proof box mad for transporting raw energon. That stuff'll be more stable than rock crystals."

"I appreciate it. Thank you."

* * *

Prowl picked his way across the uneven ground where the battle had been fought just moments before. It had been short and chaotic and had ended with an abrupt Decepticon retreat, as was not all that uncommon here on Earth.

He found Jazz slumped in a crater, looking dejected, and reached out a hand to help him up.

"Ready to go?"

"Just ain't fair." Jazz grumbled. "Did you _see_ what happened?"

Prowl nodded, clasping his hand and pulling him upwards.

"Come along, the others are waiting."

"All that work! That thing was a work of art! It was going to be the most impressive fireworks display ever, all in one go. I had it in place on their big bad weapon an' everything! As soon as they charged it up it would've gone off, an' if they didn't I had the timer..."

"Never mind, Jazz." Prowl said comfortingly, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

"He blew it up!" Jazz whined. "He shot at Starscream an' the Seeker dodged an' he blew up my surprise! It never even lit up, it just exploded."

"It _did_ knock half the Decepticons off their pedes, including Megatron himself, and cause them to retreat."

"It ain't the same." Jazz moped.

"Well you should know as well as anyone that plans rarely survive contact with the enemy."

"I know, but I don't like it." Jazz grumbled.

Prowl squeezed him closer.

"Lets head home. You can set off some more there."

"Can't." Jazz grouched. "We used'em all up. The ones that weren't used up in the testin' an' in this one, the twins already played with."

Prowl leaned closer, murmuring into Jazz's audial.

"That's what _they_ think."

* * *

~What _is_ that thing you've got?~ Ramjet asked Dirge as they hovered just out of sight of the Autobots waiting for the more senior non-flyer-models to get organised, noting the other mech was in root mode.

~I don't know.~ his trinemate responded, turning the object over in his hands. ~Skywarp grabbed it from the Autobots before it got destroyed.~

~Then why'd he give it to you?~

~He didn't. Screamer saw him with it and made him drop it. I caught it.~

~Cool.~Thrust grinned, coming closer.

~So what do you think it is?~

~No idea. It's hissing a bit, and there's this timer thing on the front, but it's not doing anything much.~

~Timer?~ Ramjet asked.

~Yeah, see here? Oh, hey it's all zeros now...~

BOOM.

* * *

The Autobots had all stopped, staring into the sky as the fireworks display went on... and on... and on...

"Sweet, eh?" Jazz asked glancing back at Prowl.

"Perhaps a little ostentatious, but it is certainly impressive."

Jazz beamed at him.

"I love you too. So. About those ones you said were still back at the _Ark_...?"

"This isn't enough?" Prowl asked incredulously.

Jazz laughed happily.

"Nope. Not by a long shot."


	23. First love

**Title: First love**  
Rating: K+  
'Verse: G1 (pre-history)  
Characters: Prowl/Jazz  
Prompt: "A Jazz/Prowl romance story with some angst and drama but happy ending"

A/N: happy birthday atemue! (UsagiLovesDuochan)

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just play with them.

* * *

Prowl stood quietly against the wall, perfectly content to wait until he was instructed otherwise. The masters had summoned him here and they would have a reason for that, whether or not he found out what it was. It was not his place to question, merely to serve. That was the role of all his kind.

The masters - the name of whose race must never be articulated by an unworthy servant - had created the Cybertronians. They had built a vast factory, so large many mistook it for a planet. The product was the Cybertronians and it was a profitable business.

The earliest models were military, sold to wealthy alien races who needed troops to keep out invaders, or to invade the territory of others. The demand swiftly grew beyond what the masters could produce, and so a new line was started: workers to maintain Cybertron and to build their brethren. This model, too, proved saleable, and the masters were pleased.

Prowl was of a more specialised line. Only a few were created to be taken to the Homeworld and serve the masters directly. They were programmed carefully and also had additional training. Some proved to be flawed and were discarded, but most understood and accepted their role. Prowl's settings compelled him to be loyal to his own personal masters above all else, even at the expense of his own functioning, and he had never felt any desire to change that. Serving them was his purpose, and without them he would not wish to function.

He was aware that there were dysfunctional mechs back on Cybertron who tried to avoid their functional purpose, and he felt no affinity to them. Clearly they were misguided. How could anyone reject the gift of having the security of a master to serve? It made no sense at all.

"Prowl, come forward."

Stepping up to his master's side, he noted that their visitors were comprised of several eminent scientists; unusual guests for his master who was of the third tier.

The masters divided themselves into five tiers, or castes. First were the rulers, the judges, the most powerful. The second tier were the scientists and engineers, the academics in the physical sciences. In the third tier were the administrators and statisticians and bureaucrats. Fourth were the artists and creative types, and fifth were the workers.

Cybertronian servants were most common at the second and third tiers, though a few Fourths also made use of them. The Firsts could afford fifth tier servants rather than mechanical substitutes; the Fifths could not afford the high creation and maintenance costs of a Cybertronian.

"This is your exemplar?"

"We have seen his performance data, impressive."

"He is suitable."

"We will use him."

His master dipped demurely.

"Forgive this one, great ones, but you cannot take him. The loyalty programming you value is already in place and he is set to serve only me and my kin. He cannot be altered."

"Foolish." one of them declared mockingly, echoed by the others. "Of course we cannot take him from you. That is his value: his strong commitment, his quality programming."

"High quality programming, but also high level of acceptance." another qualified.

"Tomorrow you will bring him to us. If the experiment works you will have gained an additional servant, a great prize!" the group's leader promised.

"You are fortunate." another nodded.

"I will be compensated for any damage?" Prowl's master checked.

"Of course."

"Excellent. Prowl, wait outside."

Bowing, he left the room. In the corridor he found another mech, an entertainer model from the look of him. They did not speak, they had not been given permission for that.

After awhile the guests departed, taking the entertainer with them, and routine resumed.

* * *

As instructed, Prowl stood facing the entertainer he had seen the previous orn. The scientists were all excited, tentacles waving madly, and their plan was finally revealed to him. He was not sure what to make of it, but it was not his place to question, merely to do as ordered.

Loyalty programming such as he had was expensive and could not be undone once installed. It was permanent and unchanging. But the scientists had a theory that a different sort of loyalty could be established between the mechs which did not involve programming, which could help where changes were necessary.

"Expose your spark chambers!" they were ordered.

The entertainer did so obediently enough; Prowl waited for the wave of approval from his master.

"Open them." the scientists demanded excitedly.

"Isn't that dangerous?" Prowl's master asked. "I don't want to lose Prowl."

"Hurry, hurry, there is no time for discussion now!"

The approval came and Prowl complied. Then stumbled backwards as the closest scientist shoved the entertainer forward, slamming the two of them together.

He fell, the entertainer - Jazz? - on top of him, but he was barely aware of his physical situation as he was overwhelmed by sensation.

It was not quite a data transfer, there were no cables or protocols involved, yet suddenly he knew things about Jazz that he could not have known any other way, and he sensed that Jazz was receiving the same from him. Their sparks were intertwining, merging in a way he had never known could be possible, and it felt incredibly good. Right. As though he had always needed this, while never knowing he had been missing it. He had never felt anything like this in his lifetime, and with access to Jazz's memories he knew it was entirely unfamiliar to the other mech, too.

Knowledge slammed into him at even the consideration of Jazz's past. The entertainer was a new arrival to the Homeworld, but not a new activation. He had been purchased by a wealthy client to be part of a performing troupe, and had lived on a ship for many vorns. A short time ago, however, his masters and the other members of his troupe had perished when their ship was attacked by pirates. Jazz had survived through the questionable fortune of being in recharge at the time. Presumably the pirates had thought him damaged or inactive.

The masters - _Quintessons_, Jazz corrected - had taken him back and attempted to re-sell him, but could not change his existing loyalty programming. The attempts had been painful and entirely unsuccessful. He had been relieved when the order had been given to simply deactivate him, but then they had had this one last idea.

Prowl keened, clinging tightly to Jazz as he vicariously experienced the grief of losing one's master, losing one's purpose. Work colleagues, too, had gone and that was painful but it was like the dull glow of energon against the flaming nova of agony where programming conflicted with reality. Death would be a relief. An escape from the terrible, constant, inescapable pain...

...and yet...

Yet Prowl did not want to die. His masters were still alive, his purpose for functioning still present.

_And they do not want us to die_ he pointed out, expressing the words somehow without actually using a communications protocol. _They are doing this to save you._

Jazz's response was derisive.

_They are doing this for their own benefit. If it works, they can sell others like me rather than smelting them._

_**If**__ it works?_ Prowl asked. _Has it worked?_

He onlined his optics, not recalling when he had turned them off, and looked up into a wide blue visor.

_I do not want to die._ Jazz admitted. _I want to live. But I couldn't do it before._

_Before?_

_Before this. Before you. I only want to live if I can stay with you._

_I also want to stay with you. I can imagine nothing worse than losing you. What is this feeling?_

_I know no word for it in our language, but I think it's what my former masters called __**love**__. And it is forbidden to those who serve to even speak of it._

_Then we will create a word for it, one that is not forbidden._ Prowl promised.

It was a defiant thought, one that should have caused him to immediately confess his failing to his masters and expect punishment, but strangely that compulsion was no longer as strong as normal. It had been overwhelmed by this new thing, this connection to another mech that was now more important to him than anything else in existence.

Jazz sensed his thoughts and smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing Prowl had ever seen.

Whatever this was, they must nurture it. Whatever came next, he knew his entire life had changed now that he loved Jazz.

* * *

A/N: now will someone _please_ tell the Quintesson bunnies to leave me alone?


	24. Priority scheduling

Title: Priority scheduling  
Rating: K+  
'Verse: G1  
Characters: Prowl/Jazz  
Prompt: fluff with Jazz calling Prowl 'Sparkles'

A/N: happy birthday prowlerprime ^_^

* * *

Prowl had been online for several breems just watching his exhausted mate charge, but now Jazz's visor flickered on and he leaned down to kiss him.

"Mmm, mornin' Sparkles." Jazz murmured tiredly as the kiss ended.

Prowl pulled him close, stroking the back of his helm.

"You got in very late. Was everything okay?"

"A few delays. Nothin' major. Guess we gotta get movin' if we're gonna be on time for the debriefin', eh?"

"I have rescheduled it. You need time to rest, as do Mirage and Bumblebee, I imagine."

"Ain't like you t'delay on hearin' updates."

"I believe if there were anything urgent that you would have insisted on a meeting as soon as you returned. You have certainly done so before."

"Huh. Well, you're right. Nothin' big in this one, mostly just confirmation of what we already know. So I get a sleep in, then?"

"That is the general idea." Prowl agreed, delicately kissing his mate's left sensor horn.

Jazz twitched, pouting.

"No fair teasin', Sparkles."

"Why not?"

"I ain't gonna get much charge if I'm lyin' here missin' you."

"Who says you'll be missing me?" Prowl asked, working his fingers gradually down to one of the sensitive points in Jazz's neck. "With your meeting cancelled I'm free for several groons."

Jazz began to make some startled comment but Prowl cut him off with another kiss.

~You're not the only one getting frustrated by our current schedule.~

"So it seems." Jazz chuckled as Prowl began kissing his way down his neck.

Prowl grimaced a little as he found grit and rough spots on Jazz's armour; the mech needed a good stint in the wash racks and then some proper detailing, but right at the moment Prowl wasn't the least bit interested in making the suggestion. It had been far too long since they had last had personal time together and he was thoroughly tired of self servicing. Slag it all, they were an acknowledged couple now, he shouldn't _have_ to.

Moving lower, palms pressing in against Jazz's hips he murmured a request for his mate to open his panel. Nothing happened. Surprised he raised his head to look up and found Jazz's visor was dark: he had dropped back into recharge.

Huffing in exasperation - and telling his systems that they had to wait a bit longer - he returned to his earlier position of lying beside the other mech.

"Don't think I'm not going to tease you about this." he warned as he settled down.

"Wha's that, babe?" Jazz muttered confusedly, rousing.

Prowl kissed the top of his helm and cuddled him close.

"Nothing. Never mind. Charge."

"Stay?"

"Yes. I'll stay."

Jazz smiled, snuggling in against him.

"Love ya, Sparkles."

"I know. I love you too. Which is why I'm changing the schedule so that we get the whole orn..."


	25. TMI

Title: TMI  
Rating: T (pretty much all innuendo)  
'Verse: G1

A/N: belated birthday fic for Yoru Hana1 ^_^; Another moment of weirdness from my bunnies - I told people they'd gone rabid! (Either that or they've been smoking something illegal...)

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, nor make any profit from this, I do it for fun :)

* * *

Alone at last the secret lovers wasted no time, desperate for contact. The kiss was passionate, expressing all the emotions they were each feeling: the fear when deadlines had passed with no word, the anxiety of being forced to hide without daring to even charge properly, the lust so hard to restrain, the guilty pleasure at finally being together again.

Beneath that was the knowledge that they would have to break apart, that this office was not the appropriate place for this liaison. The mission was over, and they were together again, other things would have to wait for a more appropriate location and time.

Slowly, reluctantly, they relented, pulling away enough to stare at each other. Their relationship was still so very new, and they had nearly lost everything the very first time they had been separated for a mission. The same could be true of the next mission, or the one after that. This was why they had avoided the obvious for so long, had resisted the inevitable as long as they could.

They could not do so any longer. It was unbearable.

"Have you told him?" the shorter one asked.

The taller mech shook his head.

"I will now I know you're safe."

"We should have told him before..."

"You need not worry." a voice said from the doorway. "I already know."

They broke apart quickly as Prowl paced towards them with measured steps.

"I've been encouraging him for vorns to find a second berthmate for when I'm away." he continued conversationally. "I can't imagine why he has been so coy in telling me he had finally found someone."

"Prowler..." Jazz began awkwardly, but the rest of his words were muffled as Prowl kissed him soundly.

He tottered a little, dazed, as Prowl released him to repeat his action on Optimus, then cocked his head to the side.

"Honestly, Orion." he huffed, his exasperated tone belied by his amused expression. "Just how long did you intend to try to keep it secret? Getting Jazz re-painted in the same way you did with me when you first invited me to your berth made it quite difficult to miss."

"But you've always been black and white!" Jazz protested.

"Certainly since long before you first knew me." the response came promptly. "Which really should tell you everything you need to know about how long I've been involved with our Prime. So. Shall we move this to somewhere more appropriate?"

"You're truly not upset?" Prime asked, watching Prowl intently. "You and Jazz have been friends for a long time - I didn't want to damage that."

"This will no doubt add another dimension to our relationship." Prowl replied calmly. "At least I know and like Jazz, unlike Elita. Who I made no complaint about, you'll recall."

"But she was wrong for me, like you said." Optimus agreed. "So. My quarters?"

"What time?" Jazz asked eagerly.

"Now." Prowl said firmly. "None of us have any other commitments for several groons."

"I'll meet you there." Optimus nodded, walking out.

"Won't mechs be suspicious if they see us going in there after him?" Jazz asked.

Prowl's lips twitched in a faint smile as he regarded his long-time friend and soon-to-be new lover.

"What is at all suspicious about the Prime meeting with his senior officers? I meet with him in his quarters quite often, after all, and it has never occurred to _you_ that it might be for more than my latest statistical report in spite of the fact that Optimus had told you of our relationship."

"Mech, you're a lot sneakier than I give ya credit for!" Jazz exclaimed.

Prowl smiled smugly.

"You'll discover that that's not my only talent. In the meantime I believe we're expected. Shall we?"

Jazz laughed.

"Please, lead the way!"

They left the room and all was still for a moment before there was a small movement from an item on the floor. It began to contort and twist and grow and finally was replaced by a large host mech of white and dark blue colouring.

Stretching, Soundwave reached into his subspace and pulled out a datapad to leave on Prime's desk, picking up a replacement. His regular reports were helping Optimus and Prowl to keep Megatron's little rebellion under control, aided by his telepathy but there were times when he wished he could switch off that gift. Bad enough to be around an established couple, but adding in Jazz now too? The imagery and emotions had been uncomfortably explicit.

And the Autobots had the gall to say the Seekers were bad? They didn't know the half of it.


	26. Worries

Title: Worries

Rating: K+  
Pairing: Prowl/Jazz  
'Verse: G1  
Prompt: "defeating the demon inside"

A/N: birthday fic for wicked3659. The bunnies aren't in a fluffy or cracky mood, it seems. *sigh* But happy birthday anyway!

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, just a few of the toys ^_^

* * *

_He says he is ready._

_I am never ready for this, but I tell him it's okay._

_He smiles, easily seeing through my deception and forgiving it. He knows I will be brave and wait patiently for him to return. He expects me to understand and I try to, I think I may have in the past but now I struggle. I don't understand._

_Not when it comes to the demon inside._

_._

_I don't want him to leave. I always fear he won't return to me._

_What if this time he doesn't?_

_Sometimes I wait alone and the time passes and there is nothing I can do. Twice his friends were almost too late to bring him back, and still I could do nothing to help._

_I fear it._

_._

_Not for long, he tells me._

_It's not the first time he has promised me that._

_Not that he lies. He believes that to be the truth. But sometimes it's not his choice to make._

_The demon has its own plans._

_._

_Not for long, I agree solemnly._

_He would not choose this. It is put upon him._

_He would never choose this life with its darkness and horrors. He is a free spirit chained down by necessity._

_I love him but I hate this._

_._

_I watch as he disappears._

_In his place, there is now only the demon I despise._

_Meister is a weapon that I know we need, but I resent him and what he does to the mech I love. As he leaves he stares at me and I sneer back. He hates me, I know._

_If not for me he would be free more often._

_._

_Waiting for his return is painful._

_Time passes so slowly, every moment filled with fears._

_I am far too adept at considering every awful possibility and although I appear outwardly calm I am inwardly filled with turmoil._

_I cannot rest until he returns._

_._

_I'm back, he tells me._

_He speaks of details that I will later want to hear, but for now all I hear are those words._

_He's back, but it's not enough. I want this to stop, I want him to stop leaving. I'm desperate, though I try to hide it, and he smiles sadly at me, kissing me gently and making a promise I don't think he can keep._

_I won't go._

_._

_He has told me but I am sceptical._

_He suggests we go to Ratchet for confirmation._

_The idea soothes me and I agree eagerly. When we arrive Ratchet is waiting for us. He is very busy today, with several others clustered round, but he immediately stops what he is doing when he sees us._

_And suddenly I am falling._

* * *

Jazz folded his arms tightly across his chest, waiting. The scans had taken longer than he thought they would, but finally Ratchet roused from his inward focus.

"Well?"

The medic sighed.

"There's still nothing I can find. Whatever is causing this must be processor-based, not hardware, and I've told you that before. Processor issues aren't easy to fix and we still don't really know what happened to him. He hasn't said anything?"

"Nothin' helpful. He still thinks we're in some kinda war an' he's a battle strategist. When I leave the apartment he thinks he's sendin' me on missions an' he gets frightened I won't come back."

"The Enforcers haven't got any leads yet on what happened to him?"

Jazz scowled.

"They finally admitted he was doin' undercover work at the time, like I didn't already know that. That's the most I can get out of'em other'n condolences. Frag it, I don't want their sympathies, I want my Prowler back! I want him t'stop thinkin' I turn inta some kinda monster when I transform for my stage performances. He's afraid of me! Me! Primus bless, doc, I'm an actor, I take on different roles all the time but it's still _me_ underneath. Where's all this fear this comin' from?"

Ratchet frowned, tapping a finger absently against the surface of the berth.

"You realise we may never actually be able to fix this." he said finally.

Jazz flinched.

"There must be somethin'. We can't keep livin' like this."

"Is he continuing with his therapy sessions with Smokescreen?"

"Yeah but he doesn't take'em seriously. He thinks it's some hypothetical thing Smokey's tryin' out."

Ratchet looked at him pensively.

"If we can't fix it, what's your priority?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"I'm just thinking. If we can't find the source, and we can't resolve it, maybe we can ease his anxieties."

"How?"

"You told me he's fitted all of your friends and neighbours into his delusion."

"He thinks the building owner is the leader of the enemy faction, and our Seeker neighbours are high ranking enemy soldiers." Jazz agreed tightly. "So?"

"What if the war were to end? What if the two 'leaders' were to call a truce? A peace treaty?"

* * *

_I wake._

_He is there, smiling down at me._

_I'm confused, and ask if he wasn't the one who was supposed to end up on the medical berth. He laughs and tells me off for not resting as I should._

_It's normal._

_._

_We leave with Ratchet watching on._

_The medic looks worried but Jazz is happy so I am not concerned._

_We take a long drive, pausing at the crystal gardens and watching the sparklings play. Isn't it peaceful, Jazz comments and I have to agree._

_We travel on._

.

_Outside our home, an unlikely scene._

_Our leader, and the enemy, and a huge crowd._

_We have missed something significant, I realise, and hurry to the side of the Prime. He welcomes me and explains the war has ended in a truce._

_Peace has returned._

.

_I stumble back._

_It's a trap, it can't be true._

_Everyone watches me worriedly, but I'm anxious. This is not real and I won't be fooled. Jazz reaches for me but it cannot be Jazz, not my Jazz. Meister has controlled him_

_I pull away and flee._

.

_On the run._

_Faster and faster, desperate._

_Suddenly I miss a turn, I'm going too fast, the barrier on the bridge is not high enough to save me at this speed. I fall, hearing Jazz's screams in the distance. A flash of pain, then..._

_Nothing._

* * *

I wake.

Something is wrong.

Jazz is hovering anxiously, desperately upset, static marring his speech. Something about a war? Melodramatic mech that my singer-lover-mate is, always overreacting. My job is not that dangerous, I'm merely an Enforcer.

I sit up and kiss him and reassure him.

There is nothing wrong that we cannot face together, and there's most certainly no war to be concerned about.

He is distraught, and I pull him onto the berth beside me, calmly answering Ratchet's questions.

No, my legs are not hurting. Yes, my processor is aching slightly but it's bearable. Yes I know who he is, he is the senior medic at our neighbourhood clinic. And that is our neighbour Starscream and the gardener Orion and the building owner Megatron.

What happened to me?

It's difficult to recall, but I speak of what I can remember.

I was undercover. I tried to access a database I suspected held data on some shady dealings. There was a virus and I think it got through my firewalls.

That's all the detail I can give but Ratchet smiles and says it makes sense.

Then he asks one more question. Do I know who Meister is?

The name means nothing to me.

Satisfied, Ratchet sends us home.

* * *

_He says he is ready._

_I smile and kiss him for good luck._

_I love him in his showtime guise, and kiss him again more passionately and promise to be waiting up when he gets home. He is reassured and relaxes. As he turns away I feel a strange moment of disorientation - a memory of fear? - but it fades again just as quickly. All is well. Jazz is doing what he loves, I have a novel to read, and he will soon be home again._

_No need to worry._


	27. Tribulations

Title: Tribulations  
Universe: G1-AU, SoaL-verse (set between Parts 6 & 7)  
A/N: done as a request for NineCrow who wanted more detail on Prowl being poisoned.

Summary: Promotion to the role of Chief Tactical Officer came with a new set of challenges for Prowl.

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, I just play with them :)

* * *

_Orn 1_

Prowl stepped into the office of the Second in Command and closed the door behind himself to stop the nosy juniors overhearing what he was about to request, then looked back towards the desk as Tripwire spoke.

"What can I do for you?"

"I need the access rights to the Tactical Office of all Quickquadrant's staff revoked immediately."

Tripwire stared at him blankly.

"Say again?"

"I need you to revoke access to the Tactical Office for all of Quickquadrant's staff."

"Why?"

"They decline to continue with their assigned roles."

Tripwire gaped.

"Are you saying they've defected? All of them?"

"No they have not defected. They requested reassignment."

"Well they can't have it! Primus, Prowl, you've been in this role less than an orn, what the frag did you do to them?"

Prowl stiffened.

"I greatly resent your accusation that I have caused this to happen. They announced their intentions when I arrived at the start of the shift. They have resigned from their posts."

"What do you mean resigned? They can't do that!"

"They refuse to work with me."

"This isn't a slagging civvie job, it's an _army_." Tripwire growled. "They'll do what they're slagging well told or I'll throw them all in the brig until they see sense!"

Prowl shook his head.

"They're already in the brig but given the problems we already have with leaks I would rather find staff more inclined to be loyal."

Tripwire ignored him, shoving back from his desk and striding out.

"I'll get to the bottom of this. Don't you worry."

"I wasn't." Prowl told the now empty office, then sighed and headed out.

This was not exactly how he had planned his first shift in the senior role would play out. It made him wonder what would happen next.

* * *

_Orn 3_

It was taking time to sort things out and to find new staff, but in the meantime there was plenty for him to work on. He was determined to re-work every single upcoming action to identify and eliminate any of the planned collateral damage. Mecha died in battle, that was inevitable, but it need not be planned to happen.

Locking his office behind himself after another long shift Prowl had a moment to notice how quiet and empty the corridor was before being slammed unexpectedly into a wall.

"Murderer!" someone screamed in his audial, punching him.

Twisting away, Prowl tried to put some space between himself and his attacker but the other mech was in a frenzy, attacking wildly.

"You killed him! You killed him! I know you did! Why did you do it?"

Grabbing blindly Prowl managed to catch one hand and hold it still, making the mech pause long enough for Prowl to register who it was.

"Rallypoint?"

Quickquadrant's lieutenant, who had been off-ship for the past three decaorns. Not a strategist himself, but an administrator who organised the rest of the staff so that Quickquadrant could focus on planning. The one mech Prowl had hoped to be able to encourage to stay on.

Apparently that was unlikely.

"We _needed_ him, he was our only chance against the Decepticons! And you killed him!"

"He killed himself." Prowl choked on the words.

"Liar!" Rallypoint roared, breaking free of Prowl's hold and pulling out a rifle.

Prowl did some quick calculations. At this range there was no space to dodge, but if he moved at the right moment he might be able to change a fatal wound into merely a very painful injury. He had to try. Yet before he could do anything, there was a yell from the end of the corridor and the scream of an engine and a red blur. And suddenly Rallypoint was knocked off his pedes and halfway down the hall.

Feeling unsteady in his relief, Prowl reached out a hand to steady himself against the wall and watched as Sideswipe expertly wrestled Rallypoint into immobility. Moments later a security team arrived, Tripwire striding along behind them.

"You okay?"

"Yes. Fortunate that Sideswipe was nearby."

"Looks like it. Well don't worry about it now - we've got him."

"But the accusations he's making..."

"Are worthless." Tripwire shrugged. "The mech's insane, anyone can see that. Like I said, don't worry about it. You won't be seeing him again."

* * *

_Orn 5_

With a new staff finally cobbled together from other sections of the _Escaphalion_'s crew, he decided that he could at least start sorting out what work was underway and set his eight assistants to gathering up and sorting the files, flimsies and datapads they found.

Two joors in to the task, one of the juniors went to the rec room and retrieved rations for everyone; a thoughtful move Prowl considered approvingly as he drank his own.

Three breems later, he did not feel so charitable towards the mech as he lay on a berth in the medbay with his tank being pumped empty of the tainted energon.

"I swear it wasn't my fault!" Trueline babbled pleadingly. "I just got energon for you like everyone else!"

"But conveniently no-one else got poisoned." Tripwire pointed out, gesturing for a security guard to wrap binders around the mech's wrists.

"But why would I want to hurt him? Why would anyone?"

"Well that's something we can talk about, isn't it?" Tripwire said conversationally.

Prowl listened as Trueline was escorted out of the room. It did occur to him that it didn't make sense for someone to poison him with something so quick acting that they would still be present when he was affected. Something so quick acting that he only consumed the first mouthful before feeling the effects. It was clumsy and probably indicated that Trueline was being framed. He should talk to Tripwire about that...

His thoughts were disrupted by a sudden drop in energy in his systems and he dropped offline.

* * *

"You're probably right." Tripwire agreed when Prowl finally had a chance to put across his theory late that night. "One thing is certain - he was innocent."

"But you still sent him away."

"Appearances." Tripwire shrugged. "Too many witnesses and not enough evidence to put the blame on anyone else. We can't just ignore an open attack on a senior officer. Meantime, you just need to be careful what you consume until we catch the one who's really responsible."

"I will be." Prowl agreed. "The medics have added to my diagnostic suite and I will retrieve all of my energon personally."

* * *

_Orn 9_

"So explain to me what you're doing back in here." Tripwire suggested conversationally, approaching the medberth.

Prowl shook his head tiredly.

"I wish I could. I have retrieved my own rations, I do not understand where the mistake could have been made."

"Well think about it."

"I am."

* * *

_Orn 12_

Ratchet glared at him.

"What is so difficult about being careful about what you drink?" he demanded, flushing the new CTO's systems for the fifth time in three orns. "Are you _trying_ to kill yourself? Well? Are you?"

"Not at all." Prowl responded tiredly. "But to this point I have been unable to identify how they are managing the contamination. I am personally retrieving my energon from a different communal area each time."

"Well if you don't start getting some regular fuel into you you're going to be having more problems." Ratchet huffed, shoving a cube into his hands. "Drink this. At least you'll know it's safe."

Grateful, Prowl accepted the energon and drank it steadily, trying to settle his empty tank. But he was barely halfway through when warnings began to light up his HUD.

"What the frag?" Ratchet muttered, snatching the cube back and running a quick analysis on it. "There's nothing wrong with this!"

"Then why...?" Prowl began, breaking off with a yelp as Ratchet grabbed him by the neck and pulled him to the side, tapping at an access port.

"Open up."

Obliging, Prowl felt the medic connect up and run a diagnostic, then heard him begin to swear furiously.

"Ratchet?" he asked.

He received no response.

"What have you found?" he tried again.

Ratchet growled.

"There's been nothing wrong with the energon."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we've been purging perfectly good energon from your systems."

"But I've been experiencing errors."

"Someone has tampered with your diagnostic settings. Something I'm... fixing... now." the medic grunted, optics flickering as he worked.

His attacker was the medic who had treated him, Prowl thought wonderingly. What reason could a medic have to want to harm him?

"We'll need to find out why he did it." Prowl spoke up.

"Oh, he'll be answering some questions." Ratchet said grimly. "Don't you worry about that."

* * *

_Orn 19_

Prowl looked at the pile of datapads on his desk and immediately spotted the problem. There were fourteen, divided into three neat piles; but when he had finished his previous shift there had been fifteen. One was missing.

Not bothering to check which one had been taken he crossed the hall back to the main strategy room where everyone with clearance to his office was busily working away at their assigned tasks. And in one corner he saw a datapad connected to an unassigned console.

"Who set up this station?" he demanded.

They all looked at him innocently. Unsurprised, he strode up to the console and plugged in, intent on retrieving the system log to tell him who had done it. He had only just connected up when the panel shorted out, making him yelp in rather an undignified manner and recoil, a reflexive action that had the effect of yanking the cable out and adding another dozen errors to his problems. Head aching and HUD filled with diagnostic reports he retracted his dangling cord and stared down at the now corrupted datapad. A full orn's work, lost. He still had the raw data but would have to reconstruct the algorithms.

"Dismissed." he snapped, not bothering to turn around.

There was a pause, then one of them shuffled.

"Who, sir?"

"All of you."

"Shouldn't you call a medic...?"

"Out!"

They left and he gratefully reached out to stabilise himself against the edge of the console. There was no chance of him doing any work in this state but nor was he going to display weakness to the crew by walking through the halls clutching at his helm. He was a senior officer now, he had to show some decorum and control.

Reaching out, he keyed on the console's communication system and ordered the twins to the tactical centre. Then straightened, stepped away from the console towards a chair... and collapsed.

* * *

"He didn't even try to deny it." Tripwire spat, disgusted. "He was proud of it. Disappointed that he hadn't done more damage!"

Prowl wondered tiredly just how much longer he was going to be cornered by the SIC. He was grateful to Tripwire for handling the matter and identifying the culprit, but he was less reassured by the other mech's insistence that everything was now fine. Everything was _not_ fine. Yes, one disruptive element had been removed but that did not solve the problem: none of them could be trusted.

"I require higher security restrictions on my office." he spoke up when Tripwire finally paused. "And guards."

Tripwire frowned.

"The new lock restrictions, absolutely - it's already done. But guards? Not a good idea right now. It's bad enough your staff aren't happy with your promotion, you don't need to have the whole crew seeing things've been getting out of hand. You've already got personal guards - it's pretty clear those twins are protecting them you - just keep them around more."

"I am less concerned about direct attacks on myself and more about someone tampering with my work."

"And I'm telling you there's nothing to worry about." Tripwire said firmly. "I've got tabs on all the remaining staff in case there's any more troublemakers amongst them, we've changed the locks and access permissions, and I've increased the patrols along this corridor. Anything more's over the top."

* * *

_Orn 23_

Tripwire surveyed the office, well aware of Prowl waiting in the corridor staring at him but ignoring the tactician's silent annoyance for now. This should not have happened. And yet it had. Someone had broken in to the Chief Tactician's office without tripping any of the alarms and had then smashed every terminal screen in the room. Quite apart from the problem of finding replacement parts, it would mean having to let technicians in which would then mean having to do a full security clearance before Prowl could be allowed back in to work in case tracking or bugging devices had been placed. The sheer amount of work was daunting, particularly since Prime had made it clear that very morning that he wanted a battle plan ready for discussion by the end of the decaorn.

Turning back to the doorway, he steeled himself.

"Guards?" he asked simply.

"Guards." Prowl nodded firmly.

"Right." Tripwire sighed. "Now where will you work until this is fixed?"

"The main office." Prowl responded readily. "I have dismissed the other staff permanently. Curveball is assisting in their reassignment elsewhere in the fleet where they can be monitored."

Guards, Tripwire mused as Prowl swept across the hall and into the other room, the twins moving into position outside the door. He hated agreeing to it. Guards got bored at the best of times and guarding an empty room was always an invitation for trouble. Guards could be bribed or distracted. And yet what other choice was there? Well, short term it might be okay. And with the others off the ship, maybe things would settle down.

* * *

_Orn 37_

"Again?" Tripwire blurted in surprise.

Optimus nodded.

"I have just come from the medbay. I understood you and Ratchet had identified the mech responsible for Prowl's difficulties."

"So did we."

"Well it seems that someone else is copying and I'd like it stopped. I need him working, not spending every second orn in the medbay."

"Yes sir."

Walking out of the command centre, Tripwire headed towards the medbay but came across Sideswipe along the way.

"You looking for Prowl?" the red frontliner asked.

"Yes. Prime says he's been poisoned again."

Sideswipe shrugged.

"This one's his fault."

"What do you mean?"

"Well Prowl always turns down anything anyone else gives him."

"Which makes it Prowl's fault," Tripwire agreed, "changing that policy is a foolish mistake."

"Nah, it's Prime's fault." Sideswipe huffed. "Look. He's the one who brought these commanders in with their staff. With everyone being served it wasn't like Prowl could say no, with Prime right there. Anyway, I've gotta go."

Bemused, Tripwire walked on. Prowl had ben poisoned at the welcome function for Ultra Laudit and Ultra Oculus? But Tripwire had personally assigned the staff who prepared and served the foodstuffs. Surely they couldn't have missed something there? Reaching the medbay he walked in to find the CMO cleaning up.

"What is going on?" he demanded.

"Nothing." Ratchet grumbled. "_Someone_ just can't handle his high grade."

"So it wasn't contaminated?"

"Not this time."

* * *

_Orn 51_

Things had certainly calmed down after the break-in, though whether it was due to the guards posted outside or due to the reassignment of his subordinates, Prowl neither knew nor cared. All that mattered was that things were far less stressful. That said, he now had seven completely new subordinates who were only just getting used to being on the flagship with all the sudden changes in priority and adjustments in planning, so it was not exactly stress-free.

Three of his new staff had come from other ships where they had been the lead strategist, and while they did not seem to harbour any specific resentment towards him, they were constantly trying to prove that they were the best and the others redundant. Two of the others had worked together for a long period at Ovacalix, and while they weren't antagonistic towards the others they were also unaccustomed to the constantly changing variables of being on a moving ship. The remaining two included one student from Kalisi Station whose tutors spoke highly of, and one former frontline soldier who had shown a flair for battlefield improvisation.

It would take time for them to settle in, and in the meantime he was overseeing everything personally which was satisfying in its effectiveness. He was pleased - if not surprised, after what he had learned of what Quickquadrant was doing - to see an immediate reduction of battlefield casualties on routine missions, and according to the twins the soldiers were noticing the change too.

His thoughts were disrupted by his office door opening and he looked up to see one of the guards enter, then put a cube of energon down on his desk.

"Thank you, but no. Take it away."

"Sir?"

"I'll get my own energon, thank you."

The security guard looked put out but took it away and Prowl resumed his work only to be interrupted again six breems later by the same mech.

"Sir, I don't understand why you can trust us to protect your office but not to bring you some fuel. Why would we want to hurt you? You're the one who keeps us alive out there!"

"I appreciate the sentiment, but unfortunately there are those who do not share it."

The guard looked frustrated, then suddenly put the cube to his mouth and drank half of it.

"There. See, it's not poisoned."

Prowl looked at him steadily for a moment, then leaned inclined his head.

"What is your name?"

"Westlight, sir."

"Very well, Westlight. I thank you for your gift. Now please return to your post."

Grinning, Westlight sauntered back out. Prowl stared at the cube for a while longer, then subspaced it. He had absolutely no intention of consuming it. Innocent as the offer almost certainly was, his attackers had been very clever so far and he would not put it past them to set someone up with some kind of filter so they were able to safely drink an unsafe mix.

* * *

_Orn 65_

Fourteen orns in a row Westlight brought him energon and drank some of it in front of him. Thirteen of those orns nothing was at all suspicious. The last time the mech had gone into convulsions in the corridor a groon later and had died before the medics could get to him.

It proved that Westlight himself had been an innocent pawn in the game, Prowl supposed, though it also verified that his caution was well warranted. Analysis of the fourteen samples revealed that only the last had actually been contaminated, and a review of the security logs showed that an ensign had handed Westlight the cube rather than him getting it fresh himself. The ensign was interrogated and admitted to pouring in an additive but said he didn't know what it was and that it had been given to him by someone else. Further review of the camera footage confirmed this and led to the identification of a supply mech who identified yet another mech.

In the end there was a chain of eleven mecha involved in this one attempt, each only working to a limited set of orders and unaware of most of the others. The initiator was a maintenance worker who killed himself before the security teams could find him, but left a suicide note signed off _All hail Lord Megatron!_

"We'll probably never be sure we've gotten them all." Tripwire conceded as he and Prowl reviewed the data. "But this should make them back off."

"The best option is continued vigilance." Prowl agreed.

If for no other reason than it might save other innocents from being used the way Westlight had.

* * *

_Much later_

"Did you realise," Tripwire slurred, "that it's been nearly a full decade since anyone tried to poison you?"

"Thus you feel the need to make the attempt yourself?" Prowl asked dubiously, frowning at the cube of high grade the SIC had thrust into his hand when he arrived at the conference room.

"Prowl doesn't overcharge, Trip, you know that." Broadcast chided him, taking the high grade and swapping it for a mid grade.

"This'd be a great time to start." Curveball pointed out, snatching the unwanted cube from Broadcast's grip and pouring the contents into his own lurid-coloured mix.

"Today's victory was hard earned but not outstanding in any way."

"Now that's where you're wrong." Tripwire insisted, poking him in the chest. "Right, Cast?"

"It was the first planned action in your whole sad history where there wasn't some sign of a leak." Curveball broke in before the communications mech could respond. "The _first_. It wasn't just that we won today, it's that they didn't have a clue we were coming!"

"When I think of all the time Quad and I spent trying to find the leak and it was him all along." Broadcast scowled.

"Don't take it personally." Tripwire advised. "None of us picked it."

"'Cept for Prowl." Curveball grinned.

"You knew first." Prowl reminded him. "If I had realised how he would react I would have been less bold in my actions."

"Nah, I don't believe it." Curveball argued. "You're always bold."

"Only when it is advisable." Prowl corrected him. "Now I'll leave you to your inebriations. Enjoy your victory party."

He ignored their protests and walked out, but after closing the door behind himself he paused and reviewed the exchange. He was comfortable amongst these mechs; he was valued for his work and he enjoyed it, and his contribution was both worthwhile and actively sought. It was all he had ever wanted. Well worth the struggle getting here.

Smiling, his sensor panels set high and proud, he strode off towards the command centre. This was where he belonged and where he would stay, and it would take more than a bit of energon tampering to change that.

* * *

The end.


	28. Order in the chaos

Title: Order in the chaos  
Rating: T  
Universe: G1-AU, my Chaos-verse  
Companion fic to: Getting to know you

Summary: Prowl arrives on the _Ark_ to take up his new role there and is on duty before his first shift even begins.

A/N: written for kkcliffy who noticed Sunny's reference to Prime getting drunk and playing a prank in Chaos came with a bang, chapter 5. The crack got a bit plotty, I'm afraid, and then Prowl wanted to share his perspective too. Prime's version is posted separately as 'Getting to know you' (chapter 10 of Prism)

* * *

"I'm so glad you're here." Red Alert began chattering before Prowl even stepped off the shuttle. "You would not _believe_ what your predecessor has let go on here! Well, you _will_ believe it because I can show you the footage, but it's been unbearable. They need some proper discipline, particularly the frontliners. Switchblade should have called you in vorns ago."

"He has long felt my skills were a better fit at Tyger Pax." Prowl commented serenely, nodding in thanks to the shuttle who had transformed back into root mode now that his passengers had disembarked. "It is less clear why he has changed his opinion at this stage."

Red Alert frowned at the other new arrivals who had wandered over to the viewport and were staring out into empty space, but kept up his side of the conversation.

"He was never the problem, it was Scope who wanted you kept away, but that's a non-issue now. Switchblade was injured in the battle last decaorn, badly enough that he's been sent back to Iacon and I've been promoted. I always said I'd get you out of that waste of a role when I got the chance, and here you are. Now I know it's not what you'd prefer - you _should_ be on the tactical team - but once Prime sees you at work things will change."

Prowl shook his head.

"I'm grateful. But you shouldn't expect too much; I certainly do not. Scope is unlikely to alter his opinion of me, and so long as he is Chief Tactical Officer I am unlikely to be reinstated to my former rank."

"Well more fool him, then." Red Alert huffed. "So what if you have a glitch? Half this crew are glitched, and the other half are certifiably insane! You'll fit right in here. Anyway, it's his loss. You're just what I need in the security team. You don't mind reporting to me? It was the other way around in Polyhex, I know."

"I am comfortable with the role offered, and the limits on my authority."

Red Alert nodded approvingly.

"I knew you would be. And you are going to be just what I need, getting this rabble under control. But now about these others you've brought with you? They'll need to be cleared. Who are they?"

"The Praxian is Bluestreak. I believe I told you I had adopted him after the destruction of Praxus?"

"Oh yes, I recall."

"The black Polyhexian is Trailbreaker. He's designated as a scout but he has some skill with defensive strategy. I am hoping he might be accepted by the tactical team in a junior role, but if not he makes an adequate administrative assistant."

"Once he's cleared." Red Alert mused, then turned away. "Come along, I want to introduce you to the Prime."

"I don't need to be cleared first?" Prowl asked.

"Not you." Red Alert shook his head. "I did your checks yesterday, before you arrived."

* * *

The Prime was not in his office, so Red Alert took him on a tour of the ship. Along the way they met various other officers, including the medic who scheduled him for a check-up and made rather disturbing threats of what might happen if he should fail to arrive at the appointed time. Prowl asked whether he should be concerned about that, and the answer from Red Alert was inconclusive: it seemed that this was the medic's usual demeanour, and yet the threats should not be entirely discounted.

"He is only one of many to watch closely." the security director muttered darkly, glaring at a passing blue and white figure. "I'll give you a list."

On the command deck they encountered the CTO and Prowl nodded politely at Scope who seemed less than impressed to see him.

"You needn't think just because you're on board that I'm going to let you be transferred into my division." he was warned.

"I have no such expectations." he assured him.

Still, it was very hard not to look at the screen behind him and immediately spot several flaws in the plans being developed.

Eventually Red Alert decided that they had done enough of an orientation and should get some energon before he retired for the orn. His duties would start first shift tomorrow, and there were several investigations that needed to be carried out.

But when they got to the fourth deck recreation room, it was clear that he might have to start early.

The room was filled with mecha who had clearly been drinking far too much high grade. Given that he knew such fuel was strictly rationed aboard starships it was also probably illegally manufactured and distributed. His old Enforcer programming coming to the fore, he half-consciously flared his sensor panels and raised his voice.

"Who is responsible for this?"

There was a brief silence, then one of them lurched unsteadily towards him.

"Who th'frag're you?"

"I am the newly appointed crew discipline sergeant." Prowl snapped. "And all of you are breaking numerous regulations. Red Alert, can we please have a security team sent here to ensure no-one leaves until I have spoken to all involved?"

The security director was positively beaming at him.

"Already organised. It's _good_ to have you on ship, Prowl. Everything is going to go _so_ much more smoothly."

* * *

It was well into his scheduled recharge period when he had finally finished processing all of the drunk mecha. Most were guilty only of accepting illegal fuel, though three turned out to have been drunk while on duty, and one of those was an officer - the Prime's own weapons specialist. Dismayed at the blatant disregard for the non-fratenisation rules on top of everything else, Prowl had double-checked with Red Alert before interviewing that mech, but the security director simply assured him that the crew were too accustomed to lax discipline, so Prowl had sent Ironhide to the brig for two joors to set an example which might dissuade other officers from behaving so poorly.

Heading back to his as-yet-unseen quarters, he wondered again whether this was a clever move. Scope did not want him on board and had spent vorns ensuring he was positioned a long way from the frontline. They both knew why, and it was nothing Prowl had ever wanted to challenge even though it saw him relegated to some marginal roles when he was sure he could do more elsewhere. He had expected to see out the war in that way, and yet here he was, with an entirely unexpected summons from Red Alert.

He smiled faintly. The security director had done well for himself since they had been stationed together at Polyhex nearly four centuries earlier. It was good to see the mech's talents being recognised and used appropriately in spite of his glitch.

Two corridors from his destination he was distracted from his thoughts as he passed a large mech slumped in a doorway, giggling quietly to himself. The mech was obviously overcharged and had probably forgotten the access code to his quarters Prowl decided, sweeping past without stopping. One of his first duties would probably be dealing with the availability of illicit high grade.

Reaching his assigned room around a corner, he keyed in the code Red Alert had given him and spared the time to reset it to a code of his own choice. Satisfied, he opened the door and stepped inside.

He had a fraction of a click's notice that something was wrong - a noise above him and the sense of air movement across his doorwings - and then he was doused in something wet. And sticky.

Reeling backwards in a reflexive desire to avoid any further attack, he ended up back in the hall before he had even identified the substance, at which point he wished fervently that he had been cautious enough to have avoided getting caught. It was over-processed energon in its liquid form, good only for conversion into solid energon sticks. Though not corrosive, it was nevertheless very difficult to remove because of its tendency to stick to nanite-covered plating. Particularly aboard a starship where water and cleanser were strictly rationed.

Dismayed, he paused where he was for a moment, not quite sure what action to take. He needed to wash it off, but he would need help. Bluestreak had not gotten security clearance yet, which meant either going to the medical bay for assistance - something he immediately discounted upon thought of the earlier reception with the ship's CMO - or calling Red Alert and admitting that he had been caught out by such an obvious trap. Perhaps not such an admission, he mused as he spotted a camera nearby; the security director probably already knew.

Resigning himself to the inevitable, he was about to ping the ship's computer to send a message when he heard sniggering. The desire to be clean quickly overriden by the desire to find the culprits, he turned and found that the large mech he had seen before had moved closer and was nearly doubled over with laughter.

"And just what is so funny?" he demanded coolly.

"Th-they're right." the mech chortled. "It _is_ funny to play pranks!"

Irritation honed into sharp focus, he loomed over the mech.

"I see." he said icily. "And who are _they_?"

* * *

Red Alert charged into the brig, stopped short when he saw the Praxian covered in congealed energon, stared at the three mechs who were imprisoned in the first cell, then glared at the guard who had pinged him but had clearly not given nearly enough information.

"Prowl? A word, please?"

Prowl followed him back out into the corridor and across to the security office beyond.

"Do you have any idea who that is you've locked up?"

"I know precisely who they are." Prowl responded without so much as a doorwing flicker. "They are the ones responsible for my current dissheveled state."

"You've locked up the _Prime_!"

"Who should know better than to get drunk and play pranks." Prowl countered.

Red Alert frowned.

"You can prove it?"

"He confessed." Prowl said simply, then frowned slightly. "Perhaps more because of his current drunken state than for any other cause, but I do not believe he will recant. You could ask him yourself, I'm sure he will say the same."

"I might just do that." Red Alert considered. "Go and get cleaned up then get some charge. You can start with second shift rather than first tomorrow."

Stalking forward, he stared into the cell. So he had a willing confessor did he? All the worse for the twins, then. Time for a chat.

* * *

Prowl left the security office at the ordered dismissal, still covered in energon and now without a colleague to assist him. Resigning himself to the fate of facing the medical team, he headed for the lift. But just as he got there another mech joined him.

"Whoa, mech, you are a mess!"

He did not turn, feeling far too tired to deal with this particular mech at this point. Or at all today, really.

"Thank you for stating the very obvious. Can I help you with something?"

"Doubt it, but it sure looks like I could help _you_."

"Your concern is unnecessary, I will seek assistance from the medics."

The lift arrived and he stepped in, but the other mech followed and chose the accommodation level before he could select his destination, then grinned at him.

"Lemme take ya home. I've got just the cleanser for that sorta muck; the twins play that trick often enough on newbies."

"And do you take them all back to your quarters?" Prowl asked dubiously.

"All the pretty ones, sure." was the lascivious response.

Prowl considered. If mecha were accustomed to seeing Jazz take mecha back to his room then perhaps it would not be considered unusual. And knowing Jazz, the mech's room would be the most secure place on the ship. Somewhere they might actually be able to talk.

* * *

Prowl certainly _was_ in a messy state, Jazz mused as he worked the cleanser into the other mech's plating. Water was rationed to the point where they couldn't simply have it running through the process; they needed to loosen it all up first then do a quick rinse. He may have enough rank to have a personal washrack but wasting water would only cause more trouble than it was worth.

"I missed ya." he commented abruptly, still scrubbing at Prowl's back. "Didn't think I would, but I did."

Prowl said nothing, and Jazz huffed.

"So? Did you miss me too?"

"You were very clear that you did not want to get entangled." Prowl responded distantly. "And it would be a very poor idea for us to seem too close. If our relationship is discovered..."

"What relationship?" Jazz asked bitterly. "There ain't nothin' t'talk about."

"And I understood you wanted it to remain that way."

"You do too. You're the one who said we couldn't just leave'em all t'frag themselves. That we had t'do our best ta fight this out an' see Megatron gone so one day we _might_ be okay wit' bein' together wit'out paintin' a target on our backs."

"It is still our best option. The Decepticons still target those such as ourselves, and the Autobots will not shelter us. We must give them no reason for suspicion."

"So you're gonna avoid me, then."

"Not avoid." Prowl considered, scratching at a stubborn spot on his wrist. "That would be as noteworthy as anything else. There are those aboard who already know that we know each other; it would seem curious if we were antagonistic without cause. But intimacy is also out of the question."

"Not really." Jazz murmured, letting his hands wander to the side, splaying over the broad sensor panels. "I've shared a berth wit' more'n half the crew. What's one more? Way things are, it'd pro'ly be weirder if we _didn't_ do it sometimes."

Prowl spun about, staring at him.

"You have shared with others?"

"You didn't honestly expect me t'stay celibate, didja?"

"I didn't honestly believe it was physically possible for a bonded mech to share with others."

"There's a whole lotta stuff that's possible that mecha don't believe can be done. But you're makin' assumptions: I never said I'd shared my spark wit' any of'em. I don't _love_'em. It was just a bit o'fun is all."

Prowl looked at him assessingly.

"You don't love me, either."

"I barely know ya, mech. An' I'm thinkin' it's time we changed that. I owe ya that much, at least."

"Well then the first thing you should know is that I do not engage in casual liaisons."

"Yeah, you jus' bond to the first mech who'll take ya." Jazz shot back. "Won't it look a bit strange if I suddenly stop? I thought you wanted t'keep this a secret?"

"I do, and yes it would, which is why you will not. Stop, that is. You will continue to have your 'fun' with others, and from an outward perspective I will not be counted amongst those who you spend time with."

Jazz wasn't sure what to make of what Prowl was suggesting but latched on to a single word.

"Outward?"

Prowl gave a pained smile.

"I have also missed you. And hoped that you might be interested in spending time in your company, though without any reason to believe that hope might be answered. Jazz, this is asking a lot. The secret we hold now is difficult enough to conceal without..."

Jazz cut him off with the passionate kiss he had been desperate to enjoy since learning Prowl was coming aboard and did not stop until he was sure Prowl had stopped protesting.

"You're talkin' to the ultimate secrets-keeper." he grinned. "We'll do it cause we have to. Now lets get you clean an' back to your quarters, eh?"

Prowl hesitated.

"You do not wish for me to stay?"

"Nope." Jazz said lightly, then laughed at the almost-pout on the other mech's face. "Secret, remember? Gotta get you home so I can sneak in an' ravish ya when no-one knows I'm there!"

* * *

A/N: nope, not going to give any more hints about their relationship at this point, you'll have to wait until the main plot line gets there. Meantime, if you're curious about how Prime got caught up in all of this, have a look at _Getting to know you_ in **Prism**_ ^_^_


End file.
